Operation: Falling STARS
by Matt6
Summary: A top secret branch of the CIA discovers that the Umbrella Corporation creates more than pharmaceutical products. Follow their story through a two year war to determine the fate of the world. Chapter 20 is up, R&R. Follow the complete saga through my C2!
1. Prelude to destruction

Disclaimer: Resident Evil and everything associated with it are trademarks of Capcom. I own Matt Ryan, Mark Klein, Paul Edwards, the F-1100, and anything else I invent for this story.  
  
Author's Notes: Created this story as a background for my character Matthew Ryan (who appears in Sporty Girl's fanfic). Just a little historical background  
  
The United States initiated the War on Terror in late 2000 after Al Qaeda attacked the USS Cole. In early 2001, before President Bush was inaugurated, U.S. Military forces were deployed into Afghanistan to hunt for the Taliban and Al Qaeda. The battles etc. all followed the actual events, with only the dates changed. Of course, Umbrella was also inserted into the fray, as my story will elaborate.  
  
Operation: Falling S.T.A.R.S.  
  
Chapter One: Prelude/ Final Justice  
  
Somewhere in Afghanistan, February 12, 2001  
  
The large steel door in the back of the cave stood out like a sore thumb. The rest of the interior was pitch black, but the keypad lock for the door threw off enough light to make the door vaguely visible. A faint shape moved through the darkness, examining the keypad and door before taking a step back. Two other shapes moved up to stand next to the first and began to examine the door as well. As they approached the door, it became evident that the three were humans, outfitted from head to toe in black. All three had the benefit of wearing night vision goggles, making the cave appear in a washed out green color instead of the non-amplified pitch black.  
  
None of the figures had any sort of insignia visible, or any other identifying marks. One of them walked up to the keypad while removing a handheld computer from a web belt. The figure removed the front of the keypad, and attached a link cable from the computer to it. The computer ran combinations of numbers until it attained the proper combination for the door, which promptly began to swing open. The person at the door retreated, as the other two leveled their weapons at the now-opening passageway, prepared to face any hostiles in the immediate vicinity.  
  
The person who opened the door stepped forwards, sweeping the corridor that it had revealed with a rifle, as the others flanked him. There were no doors nearby in the metallic gray corridor, but it was well- lit, making the night vision goggles the three were carrying useless. All three removed the devices, placing them on their backs and prepared to continue into the facility. As of yet, none of them had spoken a single word while the entrance was secured with military precision.  
  
"This wasn't on the briefing. Our objective was a biological weapons cache that was supposed to be stored in this area. This sure doesn't look like anything that Al Qaeda or the Taliban would've constructed. Opinions?" The first person asked, as the other two finished their sweeps.  
  
"We continue to clear whatever this place is. Just because it may not appear to be a Taliban or Al Qaeda position doesn't mean it isn't. Besides, we've checked all of the other caves in the area. This is the last place those bioweapons could be," the second person replied.  
  
"Why not? Besides, it's not like Intel's ever been wrong before. If the weapons are here, we have to take 'em away from the scary towel heads before they decide to use them on our troops. I vote to clean this nest out," the third person answered.  
  
"Still, something about this place is bugging me. Orders are orders though. We clear the facility, and find out exactly what is going on here. If we find the weapons, we call in the ground pounders to secure the place, and get out. Kline, you're on point, Edwards, cover our rear. I don't feel like getting jumped by one of these terrorists who can barely say jihad let alone spell it. Move out," the first commanded.  
  
"Yes sir, oh Slayer sir." Edwards replied.  
  
"Don't call me by my codename. You guys know I hate it when my friends call me by it," the first person replied.  
  
"Fine, mister tough guy Matt Ryan. Besides, who picked that name for you? It's got to be the gayest thing I've ever heard," Edwards replied as he choked back a laugh.  
  
"That's better Paul. Mark, make sure nothing shoots mister funny man here before I get the chance to back at base camp. Let's get going here, okay? This place is giving off bad vibes, and I want to get back in time to find out if the Ravens won the Super Bowl," Matt replied.  
  
The three commandos began to walk down the corridor very cautiously, checking every intersection and clearing every room. They found nothing but overturned chairs, and scattered papers referring to something called "Project Retribution". After reaching the end of the hallway, they reached the entrance to an elevator which appeared to go down farther into the complex.  
  
"I am starting to really not like this. Whatever happened here, it looks like the people cleared out in a hurry. Not to mention the fact that this place looks like it's been ransacked," Mark said, gesturing with his rifle as if to accentuate the thought.  
  
"I have to agree with you man. There's some really weird stuff going on here. We have to go down though. Make sure your rifles are loaded, and keep an extra magazine in reach. Load the shotguns too; we might be in some CQB situations. Looks like there's only one floor down there, so it shouldn't be too hard to clear. If it gets too hot, we pull out," Ryan said, as they entered the elevator. He pushed the button for the bottom floor as he readied his F-1100 composite rifle. The rifles were recently developed, and combined a 7.62 mm automatic weapon with a 12 gauge shotgun in order to provide more firepower for infantry operations. It had a 50 round magazine for the assault rifle section, and a 10 round magazine for the shotgun. The rifle had three selections for firing, single shot, 3- round burst, fully automatic, and a safety. The shotgun had a "double- blast" capability, allowing it to fire two rounds in rapid succession. However, the recoil for the double-blast reduced its effectiveness to the point where the target would have to be within twenty to thirty feet for both rounds to reach maximum effectiveness.  
  
As the elevator began to slow, Paul removed his .50 caliber Desert Eagle from its holster, pulling back the slide so it was ready to fire. Matt and Mark had already done this prior to entering the cave, just in case they ran out of ammo for their primary weapons, and needed their pistols in a hurry. Their descent stopped and the elevator doors opened, revealing a corridor much like the one above. There was a wide open area surrounding the elevator, which narrowed into the corridor that led deeper into the complex. Mark and Paul checked the immediate area for any hidden enemies, while Matt swept the first room for anything indicating what purpose the facility had.  
  
"I found something, or someone for that matter," he called out, as Mark and Paul gathered around. Ryan gestured at the body on the floor, which looked like it had been dead for quite some time. He, it was fairly obvious that the corpse was that of a he, was shot in his head and back with an automatic weapon. However, there were no casings evident; leaving the team to believe that whoever killed this person didn't want to leave a trace as to their presence.  
  
"Check him," Ryan said, as he continued to search the office for any information about the facility.  
  
"Looks like a local," Paul said as he checked the body for any identification or anything else useful on his person.  
  
"Holy crap!" he yelled, as he rolled the body over. While the only injuries that were obvious on his front were the gunshots, his back was another story entirely. There were deep cuts along his back, and pieces of bone were clearly visible. "It looks like someone was trying to gut him or something. I've never seen someone messed up like this before. No wonder they shot the poor guy, he must've been hurting pretty badly."  
  
"Jesus," Mark muttered as he walked over to the corner and righted a flipped chair so he could sit down. "I didn't sign up to play medical examiner on a human fish fillet. This was definitely not in the job description they gave us. Matt, I'm all for bailing. There's some seriously weird stuff going on here, and I think it's someone else's responsibility to investigate."  
  
"We're not leaving until we can find out what happened here. The Taliban or Al Qaeda might've been testing their bioweapons down here, and this poor guy might've been exposed. We need to find their stash, and take it from them," Matt said, helping his friend back to his feet.  
  
"Matt, I've never seen a biological agent turn someone into hamburger before. If this guy were exposed, do you think they would just leave him here where he could infect other people who were working on this stuff, whatever it is? They would've hauled him off and burned the body. If you ask me, something horrible happened here, and I'm not so sure I want to find out what," Paul said as he opened the door to the hallway.  
  
"We have to. If the Taliban use this on our troops, or worse, get it home, how could we live with ourselves? We need to find this stuff and get the Marines in here to take it from them. Let's just do our jobs and get out of here ASAP. When we get back to base, the first round of drinks is on me. That make you guys feel better?" Matt asked, as he strode into the hallway with his rifle at his shoulder ready for anything.  
  
"Not really, but ask me later," Mark said as he took up his position at the front of their formation. Paul took up the rear, as they reached an intersecting hallway.  
  
"Well, this looks promising," Mark said as he pointed to the map that was on the wall in front of them. He smashed the glass case with his rifle butt, and removed the map.  
  
"Looks like we want to go here," Matt said, pointing to what had been labeled as Testing Area 001. "It's to the left, and down a flight of stairs. We'll clear that, and see what little presents they've." he began as he noticed an insignia on the bottom corner of the map. "Umbrella? What does a pharmaceutical company have to do with bioweapons, and the Taliban? There is definitely something not right going on down here. Be on your guard, there's no telling what could be up ahead."  
  
They walked down the new hallway until they reached the staircase down, when they began to hear voices. Matt gestured for them to stop as he crawled to the staircase and looked down. He saw two technicians standing outside the testing area, as he strained to make out their conversation.  
  
"The modifications are almost complete," one technician said as he wiped what appeared to be blood off of his hands. "It was a shame that the first test subject escaped, and freed one of the Hunters. We lost two irreplaceable researchers and a security officer to it, along with the subject. Of course, that was before we were ordered to terminate the other bioweapons, and concentrate solely on developing the new strain of Tyrants. As you can see, we have succeeded, and are preparing the unit for transport to our India research base for proper tests. Of course, we don't need tests to tell that it is far superior to all of its forerunners. In fact, some of its capabilities are most impressive, including." he began as someone inside the testing area yelled something indistinguishable to Ryan.  
  
He waved Paul and Mark over, and motioned for them to be on their guard and follow him down the stairs to see what had happened. While he was observing, he had noticed several crates stacked near the bottom of the staircase, which would make suitable cover to observe the actions of the researchers without being seen. They walked down the stairs, just in time to hear the unmistakable sound of glass shattering, along with a bellowing roar. Several people screamed, as what Ryan could only describe as a thing from someone's nightmares emerged from a cylinder. Ryan motioned for the others to take cover behind the crates along with him, as they watched the unfolding incident.  
  
The technician outside the testing area calmly pulled out a Berreta 92F pistol and shot the person he was talking to only seconds ago, striding past the body even as it fell to the floor. He locked the door to the test area, and laughed at the people pounding at the door trying to escape. However, he failed to notice Matt sneak up behind him, until he felt the Desert Eagle barrel at the back of his neck.  
  
"Paul, open the door and get those people out of there!" he yelled, as he pushed the technician away from the door, and watched the impending carnage inside the room. The creature, which Ryan assumed was what the technician meant by "Tyrant" was still struggling to free itself from its prison, being held back by a few restraints that were rapidly being destroyed. Edwards ran to the door, yanked it open, and yelled for the people inside to get out. Of the nine people in the room, eight made it out before the Tyrant freed itself. The last person had been trying to do something to one of the computer consoles in the room, and was not going to leave before he had finished. This had cost him his life, as the Tyrant reached him in two massive strides, and impaled him on its huge claw. The Tyrant shook its claw until the body was thoroughly sliced to pieces, and began to eat the remains. Several of the researchers turned to vomit as a computerized voice announced "Fifteen minutes until self-destruct. All personnel are instructed to evacuate the facility immediately. Self- destruct cannot be aborted, all personnel are to evacuate or face imminent destruction." The message repeated itself as Paul closed the door to the room, and jammed the lock.  
  
"That won't do you any good. Once the Tyrant is finished with him, it will come for all of you," the technician said before starting to laugh maniacally.  
  
"Well chuckles, if it does come for us, you're first. Mark, Paul, let's move it. Everyone, get to the elevator," Matt said, pushing the hostile technician in front of him as they ran for the elevator. Ryan could hear the Tyrant trying to smash its way through the shatterproof glass separating the testing area from the rapidly retreating humans. Finally, there was a crunch followed by the pounding of the Tyrant chasing the survivors as they fled the complex. Ryan rounded the corner leading back to the main corridor, and saw the others ahead, as Paul and Mark herded them towards the elevator. He turned around in time to see the Tyrant no more than fifty feet behind him, and gaining quickly.  
  
"Guys, some help here!" he yelled, as Mark and Paul stopped to help out their friend. They began to fire at the Tyrant as soon as it came around the corner, being careful not to hit either Matt or his prisoner, but their weapons were not able to slow it down enough to make a difference. Matt turned, and managed to duck and roll underneath a swipe from the Tyrant's claw, but his prisoner wasn't so lucky. The Tyrant speared him through his chest, and ripped him apart, showering the corridor in his remains. Ryan brought up his rifle, and fired a burst at the Tyrant as he continued running down the corridor, moving faster now that he didn't have to drag his prisoner along as well. Ryan was using special ammunition with his rifle, as opposed to what Paul and Mark were shooting at the Tyrant. He had purchased tungsten-tipped armor piercing rounds for his rifle, even though they were incredibly expensive. While in the Army Rangers, he had a bad experience with a LAV (Light Armored Vehicle), which had nearly cost him his life, until a sniper using AP (Armor Piercing) bullets was able to shoot the driver in the head. Ever since then, Ryan had not allowed himself to be caught without armor piercing rounds, even though they were neither standard issue or cheap.  
  
The Tyrant staggered under Ryan's volley of armor piercing bullets, but still maintained its pursuit of him. The scientists were beginning to reach the elevator lobby, with Paul right behind them, to make sure they didn't get any ideas about leaving them behind. Mark fired the remainder of his clip at the Tyrant as it began to pick up speed again. He waited until Matt was clear, and fired a double blast from his shotgun, hitting the Tyrant in its chest and face. Ryan turned and fired a double blast as well, and put the rest of his clip into the wounds the Tyrant received. The armor piercing bullets devastated the Tyrant, punching through its thickened skin, and striking its internal organs. Unfortunately, this Tyrant truly was superior to its predecessors, and continued through the withering storm of fire.  
  
"Matt, let's bail. Paul's got the elevator covered. It's only sixty feet man, let's go," Mark said, as he fired two single shots from his shotgun, to control the recoil. The Tyrant took one shot to its left shoulder, and one to its right leg. The impact of both rounds was enough to knock it off balance, when Ryan rolled a grenade at it.  
  
"Everybody take cover!" Matt yelled as he tossed a grenade over his shoulder at the Tyrant. Paul managed to get the elevator doors closed before the explosive detonated, while Mark and Matt dove for the cover provided by the walls in the elevator lobby. They both managed to get behind the walls before the grenades exploded; however, the Tyrant wasn't as lucky as they were. Its skin was already punctured in many places, which left it vulnerable to the shrapnel from the frag grenade Ryan had tossed. The actual explosion of the grenade did little damage to the Tyrant, since the grenade had landed several feet in front of it. The shrapnel however ate into its insides, cutting its internal organs into pieces. As Paul reopened the elevator doors, he saw that the Tyrant was still trying to struggle to its feet, as Matt and Mark ran for the elevator. They piled in, and Matt threw a second grenade at the Tyrant right before the doors of the elevator closed.  
  
"Seven minutes until self-destruction. All personnel remaining in the facility are instructed to evacuate before meeting a terrible demise. Thank you, and have a nice day," the computerized voice again announced as the elevator ascended to the surface.  
  
"If I ever find the person who programmed that message." Paul began.  
  
"He was your prisoner. The Tyrant got him for you," one of the Umbrella researchers said.  
  
"We have a minute before we reach the top. Do you have any idea why he locked you in that testing area with that Tyrant thing?" Mark asked. None of the researchers were willing to speak up for several seconds as the elevator continued to rise. Finally, the same researcher answered the question.  
  
"The only thing I can think of is that he wanted to blackmail the company. He was always a bit unbalanced, and constantly threatened us to keep working on that monster of his. We didn't want to, the company forced us to research their weapons," he answered.  
  
"Why are you telling us this? How do you know we aren't from Umbrella?" Matt asked, as several of the researchers grew frightened.  
  
"It doesn't matter anymore. When that Tyrant gets caught in the self- destruct, all of the research they forced us to do will be lost forever, thank God. Besides, you couldn't be from Umbrella. They would've shot us all on sight," the first researcher added. By this time, the elevator had stopped, and the doors opened.  
  
"Okay, everybody out. Mark and Paul, take point. I'll bring up the rear," Matt said, as everybody ran for the exit at the end of the corridor. They made it to the steal door at the entrance of the facility with a little over two minutes left until the facility exploded, and ran through the cave into the hot desert air. It was just a little after local noon, and the air temperature was much higher than the facility's climate- controlled 73 degrees Fahrenheit. They continued running, trying to put some distance between the Umbrella complex and themselves before it exploded and took them with it. Mark and Paul managed to find a ditch about four hundred feet from the entrance, and made sure that all of the researchers made it before jumping in themselves. Ryan made a dive for the ditch, and landed inside of it seconds before the facility exploded. Dust flew everywhere as the hill that the facility had been built under collapsed, showering the survivors with debris. Ryan pulled out a satellite radio, and established a communications channel with the Marines.  
  
"Echo Alpha, this is Field Op Charlie reporting a situation green and requesting pickup. The facility has been neutralized, with zero friendly casualties. We also have eight people requiring a debrief by Intel. Might want to brace yourselves, they've got quite a story to tell about what happened in there. By the way, who did win the Super Bowl?" Ryan asked over the radio, as the Marine on the other side laughed.  
  
"Ravens over the 49ers in overtime, 35-28. There's a helo inbound, ETA ten minutes Charlie. This is Echo Alpha signing off," he replied as Ryan shut off the radio.  
  
"What was Umbrella doing with that thing in Afghanistan?" Ryan asked. "What was Umbrella doing with that thing, period?"  
  
"As well as I can tell, Umbrella isn't just a pharmaceutical company. They produce bioweapons like the Tyrant, as well as viruses, to the highest bidder. The Taliban were interested in Umbrella's weapons, and Umbrella agreed to provide them an advanced Tyrant as a free sample, you could say. The facility was entirely funded by Al Qaeda and the Taliban, and other than Mr. Evans, our boss that you took prisoner, the labor was kidnapped. The Taliban supplied some captured Northern Alliance soldiers to Evans for testing before Umbrella withdrew its other bioweapons from the base when the U.S. declared war. The first test subject escaped, and somehow managed to release a Hunter, a different type of bioweapon. It killed two of my colleagues, and a security officer before it was hunted down. It also killed the poor kid; he was only 17, who had escaped. To make sure he didn't come back as a zombie, the security team shot him," the researcher that had been so helpful previously replied. Ryan saw that he had a name tag that read William.  
  
"What do you mean, come back as a zombie?" Mark asked.  
  
"The Tyrant and Hunter series of bioweapons, along with all of the others that Umbrella makes, are created using either the T- or G-viruses. They are able to mutate living beings into horrible creatures, and can turn infected humans into zombies," Will replied.  
  
"So what happened in Raccoon was true," Paul replied, punching the sand as hard as he could.  
  
"What's wrong Paul?" Matt asked, as his friend began to cry.  
  
"My brother was living in Raccoon when it was nuked. I promised myself that if I got a hold of whoever caused the outbreak, they would regret the day they heard of the city. I just didn't believe that the S.T.A.R.S. team was actually telling the truth about what Umbrella did there. They deserve to pay," he said, as he calmed down slightly. Ryan heard the helicopter approaching as Paul finished speaking, and for once was at a temporary loss for words. When he did speak however, everyone listened.  
  
"You're right Paul. Umbrella can't be allowed to get away with this. My fiancée is working for them right now; I have to get her out of there as soon as we get back. Right now though, we should just worry about getting back to base, and getting debriefed. We'll have plenty of time afterwards to put together a plan to take out Umbrella once and for all. Believe me, they'll wish they never heard of us before we're done with them," he answered.  
  
The helicopter flew in from the north and hovered overhead for a few seconds until it located a suitable landing field, and set down. Matt, Mark and Paul helped the researchers get in, and hopped on themselves for the short ride back to the U.S. base in the region, as they prepared themselves for the coming battles they would have to face against Umbrella and their monstrosities.  
  
"Hey Mark, guess what? The Ravens won the Super Bowl, so you owe me $20," Matt said as he gave a light laugh. Mark just grimaced slightly, and then gave a slight grin as he passed over the money. Even though they were going to be entering battle with a multinational corporation that had the capability to produce enough biological weapons to destroy the world, Matt was still joking with his friends.  
  
Well, the first chapter of my story is a wrap. In the next chapter, Ryan and his friends will be debriefed, and receive new orders concerning Umbrella. Don't expect the next chapter until around the 4th of July however (I'll be on a backpacking trip for two weeks and not return until then). I will bring a notebook to write with on the plane though, and try to have the next chapter up ASAP (As Soon As Possible). 


	2. Reality Check

Disclaimer: Everything involved with this story that I created belongs to me, everything else is owned by (Drum roll) their respective owners.  
  
Author's Notes: I'm working a few different possible directions to take this story for now, but I believe that I have enough ready to go for a second chapter. In fact, I think I may have a pretty good idea for the next two or three chapters at least. Reviews are welcome, as are any comments or suggestions about my story line, or anything else.  
  
Note: a broken horizontal line (ex. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ ) means a change in location/character point of view. SOC stands for Special Operations Command.  
  
Operation: Falling S.T.A.R.S.  
  
Chapter Two: Reality Check  
  
Marine Firebase Echo Northern Afghanistan February 13, 2001  
  
Footsteps echoed up the hallway as a lone man walked towards the main briefing room. He shuffled some papers nervously as he searched for his key to the room before finding it and unlocking the door. He turned the handle, opened the door and stepped into the darkened doorway. He felt along the side of the wall for the light switch, and turned it on with a sigh of relief. Light flooded the room as he walked over to the desk in the middle, and put hit papers down.  
  
"Now that we're all here, we can get started," a voice from the back of the room called out as the man dropped his papers, scattering them all over the floor.  
  
"Jesus Christ! You guys scared the crap out of me. Haven't you ever heard of leaving a freaking light on? You're going to give me a heart attack Ryan," the man replied, bending over to pick up his papers.  
  
"What we went up against yesterday would be enough to do that to anyone Tom. Besides, it's our job to stay in the shadows. You could say that we're practicing. Now let's get down to business; personal hours on the phones are coming up and if I miss a chance to call Melissa I'll be angry," Matt replied, helping Tom pick up the stack of papers he had brought to the room.  
  
"Fine. Based on your descriptions of. what was the name of that thing you said you killed?" Tom asked, beginning the meeting.  
  
"Those Umbrella researchers called it a Tyrant. Took a load of firepower to put it down, and I'm not even sure we killed it before the self-destruct went off," Mark replied, answering Tom's question.  
  
"Right. I looked into any previous reports of something called a Tyrant involving Umbrella Incorporated, and came up with three main hits. They all seem to involve Raccoon City, the Raccoon City S.T.A.R.S. team or both. The first reference I found was a report filed by the Raccoon S.T.A.R.S. after a mission to the Arklay Mountains which saw the deaths of almost the entire team. The report described a mansion in the woods owned by Umbrella where bioweapons were developed and stored, including a Tyrant. After the mansion exploded, the Raccoon S.T.A.R.S. tried to investigate Umbrella, according to this report. It seems that all of their attempts were unsuccessful, and ended with their resignations and the destruction of the city," he began.  
  
"Well, we know that this event probably happened. What's the next reference you found?" Mark asked, with a hint of eagerness in his voice.  
  
"Both of the other events are connected with the destruction of Raccoon City. The first," he said as he pulled out a piece of paper, "describes a Tyrant being deployed to Raccoon to hunt down the surviving S.T.A.R.S. members. It was codenamed the Nemesis, and was defeated by Jill Valentine, a S.T.A.R.S. member who survived the Arklay Mountain incident. The second was from an interview from a Leon Kennedy. He described a Tyrant following both he and a Claire Redfield, apparently the sister to former S.T.A.R.S. member Chris Redfield. The Tyrants were defeated in all three cases using some form of anti-tank weaponry or high explosives," he concluded.  
  
"Well, if you're going to build a genetic killing machine, you might as well build it to last," Paul said, getting a laugh from the others. "Now that we know about their big bruiser, how about we come up with a plan to shut Umbrella down. If we mobilize the whole command, it shouldn't be too hard."  
  
"So far, the only thing we've been able to do is to ask the NSA for the use of the Echelon system to intercept anything related to Umbrella. They told us that they'd get back to us on our request, so for the time being we're not going to be doing much. Intel is conducting interviews with the personnel that you rescued yesterday; so far they've uncovered quite a bit of useful information. In fact." Tom began as there was a knock at the door. Two men outfitted in dark suits and sunglasses entered the room. They immediately walked up to Tom, and began taking the pile of papers he had brought into the room. This brought Matt, Mark and Paul to their feet, to defend their commander from his unknown assailants.  
  
"Please sit back down. You no longer have any jurisdiction over this matter," the taller man spoke. "I'm Agent Johnston, and this is." "Agent Jennings of the National Security Agency. Under Clause 3a of the National Security Act, we are taking command of your operation. Mr. Walker, you are hereby removed from command. You will be escorted to the carrier Abraham Lincoln, where transportation back to the United States is awaiting you. The Marines waiting outside will ensure that you do not miss your transportation to home. Thank you for your time," Jennings concluded, as two Marines walked in and took up positions flanking Tom.  
  
"Please follow us sir," the first Marine said, as he began to walk back towards the door.  
  
"Wait just a minute. Clause 3a states that the NSA can take over our jurisdiction only in the instance of domestic terrorism. We're talking about a multi-national pharmaceutical corporation creating biological weapons and selling them to international terrorists and dictators," he replied, shrugging off his Marine "escorts."  
  
"That would be where you're incorrect Mr. Walker. The creature and base that you discovered are not connected to Umbrella whatsoever, but are in fact creations of the S.T.A.R.S. who went rogue several years ago. It is well known at the NSA that they are connected to terrorism, and have been conducting bombings and other attacks for almost three years now. You three," Agent Johnston began, directing his speech now to the three dumbstruck commandoes "will be responsible for hunting them down and ensuring that no more innocents die at their hands."  
  
"What about the map? What about the researchers? What about everything we found at that base that was connected to Umbrella?" Mark asked, taking a step towards the NSA Agents before being restrained by Matt.  
  
"All of them clever forgeries designed to fool you into thinking that Umbrella was developing weapons of mass destruction. The researchers you mentioned have already confessed to being in cahoots with the ex-S.T.A.R.S. members, and are being transported to Guantanamo Bay as we speak to wait for trials before a military tribunal," Agent Jennings said as an aide walked into the room and whispered something into his ear.  
  
"Oh my," he said, his voice full of what Matt thought was fake concern. "It seems that there won't be any need for a tribunal after all. I just received word that the helicopter transporting our prisoners went down over the desert, with an apparent loss of all hands. Such a tragedy, it seems that we won't be able to discover what really happened in the S.T.A.R.S. base. But that's beside the point now; we'll be directing your effort against them from this point on."  
  
"What do you mean the helicopter went down? Was it shot down? Or did you make sure that they wouldn't be able to tell the truth about Umbrella? Who are you really taking your orders from, Umbrella or the NSA?" Mark asked, seeming to explode with anger.  
  
"Now, let's not play a game of accusations of treason when we have a relative to one of those terrorists in this very room, shall we Mr. Klein?" Agent Johnston replied. "That's right; you didn't think we would ignore your sister-in-law's involvement with the S.T.A.R.S. did you? We know that after Raccoon was destroyed she went right to them, and has been spotted with them since that time. But then again, we have Mr. Edward's brother in Raccoon. It would be quite easy for Mr. Klein to persuade you to believe that Umbrella was involved in the city's destruction, wouldn't it? I'm sure he had quite an easy time of it as well."  
  
"What are you implying? That we're all trying to frame Umbrella to fit our own agenda in some way? Or are you implying that we're traitors? Let me tell you, I'm not taking any orders from one of Umbrella's lap dogs. We work under our commander, or we don't deploy. And you aren't going to come in here with some pile of bull about how Umbrella is completely innocent, the S.T.A.R.S. are responsible for everything, we're traitors, and you expect us to believe that the only people who can back up our story died in an unfortunate accident!?" Mark said. "I do not believe a word that's coming out of your mouth. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if you two sabotaged that helicopter. Of course, you could always just try to pin it on the S.T.A.R.S.; I'm sure that one of them would conveniently just happen to be in the area to shoot the helicopter down. It would be a good way to bring the U.S. military down on them also, wouldn't it?" Both agents just smirked at the tirade, and Mark began to step towards them again before Matt and Paul grabbed him.  
  
"Mark, sit down. There's no point in trying to fight them. All you're going to do is get thrown out of the SOC, and then what? We're no good to anyone if we're gone. Besides, if they've been given command of the unit, we have to follow their orders. You two," Matt said, looking at the agents, "have won this round. But don't think, not even for a minute, that I'm going to believe a word that comes out of your mouths. From this point on, I am going to consider both of you traitors, scum, and untrustworthy. Nothing you do or say will change my opinion of you, and nothing would please me more than to see both of you get on the nearest plane and leaving this country. Unfortunately, this will probably not happen anytime in the near future."  
  
"As long as we understand each other, I'm sure we won't have any foreseeable problems," Jennings said with a smirk. "Now then, let's get down to business. We have received information that one of the ex- S.T.A.R.S. members, a Barry Burton, has been spotted in Seattle. Since the World Trade Organization is also holding its annual summit there, we have no choice but to suspect that the S.T.A.R.S. are planning some sort of terrorist strike. Your orders will be to travel to Seattle, find Mr. Burton, and dispose of him. This should be a sufficient message to send to the S.T.A.R.S. to ensure that they do not set foot on U.S. soil again. If you are unable to assassinate him, then your secondary objective will be to follow him and discover any contacts he may have made. Have I made myself clear?" Agent Jennings asked as the Marines escorted Walker out. Ryan waited until the door had closed and latched before approaching.  
  
"You're sure about him Agent?" he asked to Agent Johnston.  
  
"Yeah Matt. Please, lose that Agent crap. I'm not from the Matrix here," Johnston replied.  
  
"Wait a minute," Paul said with a hint of confusion, "You two know each other?"  
  
"Of course we do. Allow me to apologize for the deception, and allow me to introduce Sam Johnston and Adam Jennings, of the CIA Spec Ops Bravo Team. Both of them were kind enough to assist me in ensuring the removal of Mr. Walker from his position before he leaked any damaging information back to Umbrella," Matt said, shaking hands with both Johnston and Jennings.  
  
"So wait just a minute, you two aren't working for Umbrella but Tom was?" Mark asked incredulously.  
  
"As far as we could tell, he's been on their payroll for the better part of the last three years. Since we learned about Umbrella's involvement in Afghanistan, Intel has been running background checks on all of the personnel in the SOC. He was the only one who came up dirty, so we've arranged for a nice little post stateside where he can't hurt anyone with the information he knows," Adam replied.  
  
"But what about our names?" Paul asked. "How can you be sure he didn't give Umbrella our names, or won't pass them on in the future?"  
  
"Because you three don't exist. All proof of your identities has been deleted, including driver's licenses, birth certificates, etcetera. Besides, all commanders are taught to assume that their operatives' names are simply aliases. At worst, all he'll believe that he has are some code names that don't lead anywhere and therefore aren't worth passing on to his superiors," Sam replied, fielding the question.  
  
"What about those people we pulled out yesterday?" Mark asked as Paul nodded in agreement.  
  
"They've been relocated to one of our safe houses in Eastern Europe. Don't worry; we're not taking any chances with those poor folks. Well Matt, do you think we acted well enough? This suit is starting to chafe; I don't see how someone could wear one of these for a living," Adam said as everyone began to laugh.  
  
"Yeah, you guys really played it up. If I wouldn't have known what we were going to do ahead of time, I would've been fooled. By the time Tom figures anything out, he'll be in a position where it'll be impossible for him to pull anything. The rest of the CIA and government leave something to chance though. I don't want to take anything for granted when dealing with them; in fact I think we need to start planning what we're going to do for our next move. Any suggestions?" Matt asked.  
  
"Well that bit about Burton in Seattle was definitely true. We picked it up on Echelon late last night, it seems that Umbrella's got some kind of operation planned to go off in the near future. I would advise getting a few Ops teams into the area and see if we can link up with him. The expertise of the S.T.A.R.S. in fighting Umbrella would be a definite boost to our effort, if we can pull off a link-up. Of course, that would probably not set well with the parts of the government under Umbrella's heal. It might be better to set up a network of people that we can trust before we make any serious moves against them," Sam suggested as Mark and Paul nodded in agreement.  
  
"Okay, here's what I think we should do. Adam, get the second and third SOC teams ready to roll and deployed to Seattle. I'll be assuming control of field operations for the time being. Mark, get our gear loaded up and ready to roll. Paul, get transportation arrangements for us, and Teams 2 and 3. I'd like to be on the ground in Seattle in less than 72 hours with no questions asked, and no hitches at the airport. I'll get the necessary diplomatic passes for our bags so they can't be searched, and clear the op with the boss," Matt said as he walked to the door.  
  
"You got it boss," Adam said as he followed Matt to the door.  
  
"Any place you need us, just give a shout," Sam said.  
  
"You have my cell number," Matt said. "As soon as you arrive, call me and I'll hand out more detailed orders. Now let's get out of here before someone gets suspicious." The five soldiers left the room, marking the end of an era of ignorance towards Umbrella, and the beginning of its eventual destruction.  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
Umbrella Incorporated Main Office Paris, France February 13, 2001  
  
"So far everything's going to plan," a voice called out of the darkened office.  
  
"Pardon me sir?" an aide asked.  
  
"You heard me Clemens, so far every event that has occurred in the last 48 hours has followed my plan to the letter," the unknown voice added.  
  
"Lord Spencer, I fail to see how events are progressing well for us at all. We've lost a very expensive facility in Afghanistan which, if not handled properly, could link us to international terrorism, not even counting the financial loss we've sustained. Not only that but the prototype Tyrant that we've invested hundreds of millions of dollars in was lost before even being properly tested. To me, sir, this seems like a huge disaster. And of course how can I forget that we now have an American commando unit that knows the truth about us, and has near-complete autonomy from their government," Clemens replied.  
  
"Ah Clemens, you worry too much," Spencer replied. "From the preliminary reports that were conducted during its development, it was obvious it was too flawed to be successfully implemented as a weapon of war. Its regeneration rates were projected to be too slow, it was too expensive to develop, and its parts were too susceptible to sustained damage. It was a flawed product given full development by my predecessor, and it is a mistake that will not be repeated during my time as President of this company."  
  
"But what about the commando unit?" Clemens asked. "If they're left unchecked, they could prove to be disastrous to us. We should find their base and assault it," he added.  
  
"Wouldn't that alert their superiors and the remainder of the government not in our pocket that we're up to something illegal? And what would we do if the assault was unsuccessful, or they were able to fight off our troops? Let me remind you that is something that has occurred several times in the past. Would you be willing to put our fate into the hands of a group of inept fools that pass as our "army" Clemens? I for one am not supremely confident in their capabilities. However, by the clever use of our resources, we may be able to not only eliminate the threat of the American commandos, but also deal a severe blow to the S.T.A.R.S. as well," Spencer replied with a smirk.  
  
"What are you planning to do sir?" Clemens asked.  
  
"My sources in the government have generously run the names of all of the Raccoon S.T.A.R.S. through the NSA's wonderful Echelon system. We discovered the location of Barry Burton, and it conveniently happens to be in Seattle, Washington. Of course my man informed me that the commandos know this as well, and will be sending people to link up with him. Conveniently enough, the World Trade Organization is holding its annual summit in the city, giving us the chance to take out not only Burton, but to give the commandos a stern warning about who they are dealing with," Spencer said. "No one would ever suspect an outbreak of a "cannibal" virus in Seattle, and if we play our cards correctly we might even be able to blame the whole thing on Burton and the S.T.A.R.S. We could turn millions of people against them overnight, and kill any chances they have of making allies against us. They will learn the price of attempting to challenge the supremacy of Umbrella. I guarantee that a group of stubborn fools who refuse to die will not destroy this company, or my name's not Andrew Spencer. They will not only suffer before they die, but will be begging for death by the time we're done with them!" Spencer said before beginning to laugh maniacally. Clemens joined in, and both laughed for nearly a half minute before Spencer held up his hand signaling him to stop.  
  
"Of course, I nearly forgot one thing," he said before pulling out a small pistol from his desk. He pointed it at Clemens' head before saying, "do I need to remind you what the cost of betraying me is Mr. Clemens? Do you honestly think that I appreciate my employees going behind my back and selling my weapons data and samples of my viruses for a profit? Don't attempt to deny it; I have pictures of you meeting with known agents of HCF. Now my question is this; why did you see fit to betray me? You're one of the best-paid assistants in this business, and have been a part of this company since it was run by the Ashfords."  
  
"Sir, I don't have any idea what you're talking about. My loyalties have always lain with this company, and all of my actions have been for its benefit," Clemens replied with a shocked look on his face.  
  
"Don't worry Clemens, I'm not going to kill you," Spencer said as he lowered the pistol. "In fact, I have a much better idea of what to do with you."  
  
"What are you going to do sir?" Clemens asked, beginning to look frightened.  
  
"You're going to play an important part in the future of our weapons program," Spencer said as he snapped the pistol back up and shot Clemens three times in the chest. "Jane," he said as he pushed a button on the intercom sitting on his desk, "please ask Dr. Phelps to come to my office, and ask him to bring two assistants and a body bag. Tell him that we've located a suitable candidate for the Nemesis II project. And please ask Frank to get housekeeping in here with a new carped for my office."  
  
"Yes sir, right away. Will you need anything else sir?" Jane replied.  
  
"Nothing until the heads of the S.T.A.R.S. and the American commandos are sitting on my desk," he muttered. "No Jane, that will be all. Thank you very much."  
  
Well, that's another chapter in the bag. And here's a special offer for all of my fans out there. For the next chapter (and a few future chapters) I'm going to need some volunteers to flesh out the CIA Special Operations teams. This is your big chance to take up arms against Umbrella and join America's Elite. Anyone interested can e-mail me at msk86@go.com or mstrofmw@hotmail.com or feel free to leave a review with vital information.  
  
Things that I will be looking for with any character submissions: Height Weight Age Hair and Eye Color (skin color is optional) Biographical background (length is your discretion, but make sure it's reasonable)  
Personal information (behavior, weapons specialty, etc.) By weapons  
specialty I mean pistols, sniper, etc. Feel free to add anything else of importance (like relationships with the five main characters I've listed for the SOC so far) Character flaws (bad temper, panics under fire, etc.) And for those of you who want to be evil, and if there are enough submissions for the CIA teams (I'm planning to have the SOC be comprised of 90 people but am not fooling myself into thinking I'll get nearly that many characters; I'll be happy with 10-ish) I will also accept people interested in becoming Umbrella agents, or neutral persons who get caught up in the struggle. There's not going to be a strict time limit; I'm not going to turn anyone who's really interested away if I can work your character in somewhere.  
  
TRY AND MAKE YOUR CHARACTERS AS REALISTIC AS POSSIBLE! I did that in capital letters to make it stand out. I don't want a Neo or Rambo or Terminator-like super human who can take bullets/dodge bullets. This story's objective is realism, and I'd like to maintain it to the best of my abilities.  
  
Next chapter: The three SOC teams arrive in Seattle amidst riots between anti-WTO protestors and police. Somewhere in the chaos lurks Barry Burton, and several Umbrella agents preparing to spread viruses throughout the city. What will Barry's reaction be to the CIA teams? After Raccoon, will they be able to convince him of their good intentions? And even if they are, will they be able to stop the Umbrella agents before they turn Seattle into a city of the dead, or is another repeat of Raccoon in the works? Stay tuned, and remember to get those submissions in! 


	3. Of Good And Evil

Disclaimer: Everything I have invented for the sake of creating a captivating story for the benefit of all belongs to me. Everything else is copyrighted to its respective owner.  
  
Author's Notes: Well, after the first two chapters, I'm fairly satisfied with the progress of this story (my first). Unfortunately at this point, I haven't received enough responses to my offer for characters. This chapter is going to be principally filler, but will also help to flesh out my story a bit. Note: I'm going to try a new way of putting in my dates and locations since there seems to be a few problems converting these stories from MS Word to Fanfiction.net's system (including not being able to use three periods to express a pause before continuing a thought). At this point, I would like to ask that anyone reading this story take the time to leave a review, and submit a character to either of my e-mail addresses (msk86@go.com or mstrofmw@hotmail.com) or leave it in your review. Requirements for characters can be found at the end of Chapter 2. Oh well, here we go again.  
  
Operation Falling S.T.A.R.S.  
  
Chapter Three: Of Good And Evil  
  
Umbrella Incorporated Main Office  
Paris, France  
February 14, 2001  
  
"Well Doctor Phelps, what have you prepared for your demonstration?" Andrew Spencer asked as he looked down from an observation chamber into a sealed-off room. "I do hope it's better than the Tyrant you spent nearly a half billion dollars of my money on that failed miserably in Afghanistan. I would hate to be disappointed; people who disappoint me are not the happiest people in the world. Nor are they generally among the living."  
  
"I assure you Lord Spencer; this Tyrant will not only exceed your expectations, but your wildest dreams," Doctor Phelps replied. "We're ready to begin the test," he said pushing a button on an intercom connected to the room. Three technicians escorted by a half dozen security personnel pushed a cryogenic tube into the room through a large door. All of the guards were toting machine guns, and two of them carried anti-tank rocket launchers in addition. They were obviously taking no chances with the Tyrant; fully knowing the power the creature they were about to unleash possessed. A technician began typing into a control panel attached to the tube, and backed away as it began to thaw out the demon it contained. The three technicians and six guards quickly fled the area, sealing the door behind them and activating a half-foot thick blast door which lowered behind them, preventing the Tyrant from exiting that way. Since the remaining walls were solid steel, Spencer wasn't too worried about the beast escaping before it could be put down.  
  
As the door fully lowered, a cage began descending from the ceiling. Spencer could see two Hunter-class Bioweapons suspended within, rattling the cage as they threw their bodies against it, unsuccessfully trying to break out. A panel in the ceiling slid open just enough to fit the cage through, when the bottom of the cage opened up, dropping the two Hunters in. The cage immediately raised back into the ceiling while the panel slid closed, as the Hunters began to approach the cryo tube curiously. Their curiosity soon changed to aggression when they realized that the tube concerned food; they quickly began trying to slash their ways into it by using their claws. They were unsuccessful before the Tyrant could awaken fully, with a temper almost matching its massive frame.  
  
"As you can see, our Nemesis II is much improved over the original. While its IQ has been raised significantly, it is still only about room temperature. A vast improvement over its prototype, and other members of the Tyrant series," Dr. Phelps commentated as the creature fully emerged from its prison of ice, and gazed curiously at the two Hunters attempting to attack it. Spencer noticed that as powerful as the Hunters' claws were, they were not even able to nick the thick hide of the Nemesis II, which stood there as yet unmoving or harmed, but still looking puzzled.  
  
"You may have wondered why it hasn't attacked the Hunters yet," Phelps added. "Pulling this off took quite a bit of effort, but we have been able to program this Tyrant to accept commands from you and myself. Nemesis, choose one Hunter and demonstrate the effectiveness of your claw," he spoke into the intercom as the Tyrant looked into the observation booth. It turned its stony gaze at the Hunters, before slicing the one on the right in half with its claw.  
  
"Hold. Do not attack the remaining Hunter," Phelps said, as the enraged Hunter began striking the Tyrant with renewed vigor, not even caring that its attacks were doing nothing at all to the massive killing machine in front of it. Finally, it seemed to score a lucky hit on the Tyrant's thigh as it began to bleed slightly. The Hunter redoubled its efforts with the smell of blood flowing, getting hungry and beginning to forget the loss of its mate moments ago already.  
  
"Nemesis, demonstrate your tentacle on the remaining Hunter," Phelps said, as Spencer began to tire of the demonstration.  
  
"Doctor," he said as the Tyrant skewered the remaining Hunter and split it apart, "This is all well and fine," he added as the walls of the room were splattered with blood from the still-squirming Hunter, "but I am not impressed. This Tyrant seems to posses every quality of its predecessors; in fact the only improvement I've seen is in its hide, which appears to still be vulnerable to continuous attack. The command system is not overly impressive either; in fact several other research teams have almost developed the ability to do this with less-intelligent bio-weapons. You're beginning to make me believe I'm wasting my time Doctor."  
  
"Let me assure you sir, my Nemesis II will soon change your opinion of it. Send in the security team," Phelps said to the technician standing next to him. The massive door opened again and this time a dozen men armed with rocket launchers and machine guns entered. "Nemesis, do not attack the soldiers," he spoke into the microphone, while the Tyrant responded by seeming to ignore their presence. "This Tyrant," he said to Spencer, "Knows not to attack humans unless specifically ordered to, and even then it will only attack its targets. Observe," he said as he nodded to the technician.  
  
"Security team, engage the Tyrant," the technician spoke over a portable radio as the team leader nodded with a bit of hesitation, unsure the seriousness of his orders. All twelve men opened up on the beast, as it staggered with the impacts of so many bullets before receiving hits from three different rockets. Phelps let the barrage continue for almost a full half-minute before calling a halt. All that was left of the Tyrant was a bloody corpse with chunks of it splattered all over the room.  
  
"I must congratulate you Doctor, it seems you have wasted another three hundred million dollars of my hard earned money," Spencer said, as he turned around and prepared to leave.  
  
"I wouldn't leave yet Lord Spencer, if I were you," Phelps replied, causing Spencer to turn around in a fit of anger.  
  
"And why shouldn't I?" he asked striding across the room and grabbing Phelps. "Your Tyrant has been slaughtered. The only thing you've shown me is your proficiency at wasting my money. You're responsible for the loss of almost a billion dollars!" he yelled.  
  
"But sir," Phelps meekly replied, "the Nemesis II is not dead."  
  
"What did you say?" Spencer asked, leaning forward as if he wasn't sure he had heard Phelps correctly.  
  
"The Nemesis II is not dead. In fact, it will be as good as new in less than," he checked his watch "six minutes."  
  
"Doctor, are you sure you weren't exposed to some form of hazardous chemicals while you were working in my lab? Because to me, it seems like you're suffering from some form of insanity. Your Tyrant was not only unimpressive, but was slaughtered by twelve men in less than thirty seconds. I am thoroughly unimpressed Doctor. Consider your last warning expired. In fact, I think your time with this company has reached an end," Spencer said, reaching for a pistol.  
  
"Sir, the security team leader says that there's something strange going on down there," the technician spoke up in a soft voice, barely louder than a whisper. Spencer walked over to the window and looked down in time to see the Tyrant unsteadily return to its feet. He gazed on mesmerized as it healed before his very eyes, until he couldn't even tell that it had even been scratched. He checked his watch and saw that barely a half minute had passed since he had heard the first report about the Tyrant still living.  
  
"Doctor, allow me to apologize. It appears I was too hasty in judging your new creation. You are correct; it has exceeded my high standards of excellence. How long do you believe it will be until you will have a sufficient number ready to deploy?" Spencer asked as the doctor adjusted his ruffled lab coat.  
  
"If we go into a crash construction plan, it is possible to have ten Nemesis II units ready to deploy by this time next year. Of course, it will depend on several factors, including whether any of the bases constructing them are attacked by the S.T.A.R.S. or HCF, whether there are any lab accidents, or any other unforeseen obstacles. A more realistic guess would be that we could have three or four functioning units by year's end. Of course, that depends on if we receive enough suitable candidates for the program, something that has been lacking severely in the past," Phelps said, happy to not be in the process of dying, for the moment.  
  
"Doctor, anything you will require in order to deploy the maximum number of Nemesis II units possible will be at your immediate disposal. I will guarantee it personally. Anyone who objects to the importance of your project will be brought to my attention at once, and will be dealt with accordingly. You have my personal blessing to carry on Doctor. You have thoroughly impressed me," Spencer said, before turning to leave the room. "Expect a hefty bonus in your paychecks for the next year," he added before leaving the room and heading towards his personal elevator.  
  
"If only I could be there to see the looks on the faces of the S.T.A.R.S. when they encounter these Nemesis II units. Redfield and those other pests won't stand a chance against them. I seriously doubt that even those government assassins could defeat one, let alone any military in the world. Soon I will have all the power, and every government of the world will kneel before me seeking patronage. ME!" he yelled. "You may have embarrassed my predecessors but the time for playing nicely is over. Umbrella will no longer tolerate interference from those fools. And after my plans for HCF are carried out, there will be no one left to challenge Umbrella's true glory!" he shouted before beginning to laugh maniacally as the elevator ascended to the top floor.  
  
"Jane, please send in Agent Hunk at your convenience," he asked as he walked past her into his office. Five minutes later Hunk walked in, still dressed in his combat uniform. It looked as though he had just completed a mission, since his face was still slightly flushed and he was sweating heavily.  
  
"Ah Hunk, it's been awhile since I've seen you. Has your latest mission to further the glory of Umbrella been completed satisfactorily?" Spencer asked rhetorically, already knowing the answer.  
  
"Of course Lord Spencer. I would not return if I failed in my mission," Hunk replied.  
  
"Excellent, Agent!" Spencer said enthusiastically. "I wish that there was time to give you a break after completing your assignment, you have obviously earned it. However, there is a time-sensitive matter which I wish you to attend to personally. We have recently learned that an ex-S.T.A.R.S. member, Barry Burton, has been spotted in Seattle, Washington. I would be grateful if you would lead a team to the city, assassinate Burton, and release a virus in the city. In addition, I have received word that a group of American commandos have allied with the S.T.A.R.S. and may also be in the city trying to contact Burton. Do not allow them to interfere, and do not hesitate to eliminate them if they present a threat. Do not fail the company and end your series of successes in our name. Upon your return successfully, you will be richly rewarded. I do not neglect those who have proven their loyalty to me Agent," Spencer concluded while giving Hunk a slap on the back, to which he replied with a slight smile.  
  
Hunk saluted and left the office, leaving the same smile on his face until the elevator doors sealed. He then let out a deep breath, which he had been holding almost since he had entered the office, so as not to breathe in the same air that Spencer had. He had begun to have doubts about Umbrella in recent months, and this seemed to have pushed his concerns over the edge. Hunk had never been asked to kill innocents before, let alone to tangle with a group of American commandos. He was deeply concerned with his position in the company, knowing that if he failed even once, he was as good as dead.  
  
"I think now might be as good a time as any," he whispered softly to himself, knowing that the elevators were probably bugged. He knew that it was time for him to end his affiliation with Umbrella. After everything he had witnessed, it was a miracle that he was able to keep his sanity let alone continue killing for the maniacs ruling the company with an iron fist. This was the first time that the topic of killing innocent people had ever been brought up in Hunk's presence, and it was not something he savored doing.  
  
'I can't allow them to spread those viruses,' Hunk thought, this time to himself. He began to come up with a plan in which he would get all of the vials containing the viruses assigned to him for the mission, and then surrender to either Burton or the American commandos, whichever came first. Of course, if the others knew what he was planning, they would surely kill him and carry on with the mission without a doubt. He therefore came to the conclusion that the others would have to die before he could make his move, or else run the risk of the viruses destroying Seattle. He came to the conclusion that Andrew Spencer had finally snapped, and that Agent Hunk would have nothing more to do with a company that thought nothing of ordering the deaths of millions of people just to kill one. The mere thought of it made Hunk ill, and he almost threw up in the elevator. Luckily, it reached the ground floor in time, and he exited quickly. He ducked into the employees' locker room, and threw his combat uniform into the locker, pulling on a pair of jeans and a loose-fitting T-shirt in their places. He took the stairs down into the underground parking garage, and entered his car quickly, not hesitating in his departure. He had a sudden urge to put as much distance as possible between himself and the den of vipers he was leaving.  
  
Unfortunately, he failed to notice the black sedan pull out behind him, and pursue him at a roughly two block interval. He pulled into the garage for his apartment, left a slight tip for the operator of the gate of the garage, just like he always did, and parked the car in his spot. He decided to take the stairs up, and exited on the third floor. He walked into his room, and promptly collapsed on his bed, playing the day's events repeatedly in his mind, and preparing himself for the moment he would leave the company.  
  
"Subject has arrived at his residence," Eddie Uftling said into his cell phone as the black sedan continued past Hunk's apartment.  
  
"Excellent. So, Agent Hunk believes that it is time for him to leave the company?" Andrew Spencer asked rhetorically. "He'll get his chance alright, but I'll make sure the rest of the team knows what his plans are too. Not to mention the fact that they'll have already spread the viruses before Hunk gets the chance to stop them. It'll be perfect; I'll be able to kill off a traitor, a S.T.A.R.S. member, and the American assassins. Soon there will be no one left to stop me. Eddie," he said into the phone, "Don't make a move against Hunk, but continue to follow him at a distance. I wish to know all of his whereabouts until I alone order otherwise. Do not accept any orders other than mine in this matter. That is all," he concluded as he hung up the phone. "I'll show them. I'll show them all." _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
Minneapolis/ St. Paul International Airport  
Minneapolis, Minnesota  
February 14, 2001  
  
"Hi there," Matt said, after he heard the phone click as it was lifted out of its cradle.  
  
"Hi yourself. I guess this means that you're done with your business overseas," a female voice replied.  
  
"I wish I was Melissa," he replied, allowing a deep tiredness to seep into his voice.  
  
"What do you mean? How long are you going to be kept this time?" Melissa asked, with a hint of concern in her voice. "The last time you were gone, I didn't hear for you for nearly a month."  
  
"I know. All of the time that I can't speak with you is killing me, but I have to do my job. Millions of people are depending on me and the others," Matt replied. Melissa sighed before replying.  
  
"Matt, you don't have to explain your actions to me. We've already had discussions about your, occupation," she annunciated as Matt let out a sigh of his own.  
  
"I know. Something really important has come up, and this time it involves your occupation," he answered.  
  
"What does my job with," she began before Matt cut her off.  
  
"I'll be out to talk to you in person soon. The important thing is that you need to quit your job right now. Leave the company, resign, get sick and never come back, whatever you have to do. Do not go back to work at that facility. It may be a matter of life and death."  
  
"What are you talking about? I'm just a researcher for," Melissa began before Matt cut her off again.  
  
"Trust me on this. There's more to them than meets the eye. You do not want to be connected with that company. We've found out that they're responsible for some horrible things. I can't talk about them over the phone with you, but believe me when I say that your safety is my chief concern."  
  
"I know Matt, it always has been. I just wish you would worry about your own safety as much as mine. I'm a big girl now; I can take care of myself. You don't have to worry about me like you were my father or something," Melissa answered with just a hint of sarcasm.  
  
"Please, just do this for me. The next few months are going to be very hard, and your safety isn't something that I can afford to worry about. In fact, if we all make it through, it'll be a minor miracle," Matt replied.  
  
"What are you talking about?" Melissa asked. "And where are you right now?"  
  
"I'm at Minneapolis/ St. Paul International Airport, and I'm heading for Seattle. I can't tell you why I'm going, but trust me when I say that I'll be safe, and that I'll be home soon. I have to go; my flight's leaving in fifteen minutes. I love you," he added.  
  
"I love you too, no matter what," Melissa replied. "Just be safe for me, will you?"  
  
"Of course I will. I'll see you in a few days, if everything goes well," Matt replied, before hanging up.  
  
"Aw, isn't that sweet. Did you have a nice chat with your fiancée?" Mark asked.  
  
"Screw you man," Matt replied, giving him a slight punch in the shoulder.  
  
"Easy Matt, we don't need the security to arrest us. If they saw all the stuff we have in our bags, we'd be seriously sunk," Paul said, being the voice of reason for once.  
  
"They can't open our bags, remember? We have diplomatic clearance. That's how we got the whole first class section to ourselves, and didn't have to check our bags. I sure do love my job," Matt said. "Where are the others?"  
  
"They're waiting for us at the plane," Sam said, walking over. "We've got nine seats on Northwest Airlines Flight 729. It's departing from Gate 7, which is about one hundred feet down the corridor. I'd suggest we get a move on, they're boarding right now, and I'd hate to be left behind."  
  
"Right, let's get a move on," Matt said, grabbing his bags and walking over to the gate where a minor scuffle was brewing.  
  
"Read my lips. We. Have. Diplomatic. Clearance." Adam said, pronouncing every word separately pretending that the clerk had trouble understanding him.  
  
"I understand that sir, but you still have to check all of your bags that won't fit in the overhead bins," she replied, looking flustered. Two security guards had also walked over, and were looking menacingly at the nine SOC commandos in disguise.  
  
"No we don't. Our diplomatic bags travel with us. They contain classified information that can only be hand-delivered to the American representative at the WTO conference. If you try to interfere with us, the FBI will have you arrested. Now let us pass," Adam said, walking past her and towards the gate to get on the plane. The two guards moved to grab him, while a crowd gathered.  
  
"Now hold on just a minute," Matt said. "What's the problem here? My friend here is correct; you can't prevent us from carrying these bags on. Is there someone here we can speak to in order to correct this problem?"  
  
"Let me speak to the pilot," she said, before walking into the gate. She was gone for less than a half minute before returning with an embarrassed look on her face.  
  
"I'm terribly sorry for inconveniencing you," she said humbly. "You may board the aircraft now."  
  
"Man, if she knew the work we did to protect airheads like her," Mark whispered once they were in the gate. Matt replied by elbowing him in the ribs, as the entered the plane one by one. There were enough rows for each of them to get their own, and stow their gear in the extra seat.  
  
"It's time to get this show on the road," Matt said, with a look of determination on his face. The countdown had begun.  
  
Well, that's number three signed, sealed, and delivered. So far this story's a bit lacking in reviews, and I had to B.S. this chapter without using any of the characters that have been submitted (at this stage there aren't any yet, though I'm hoping that will change within 48 hours). Please Read & Review, the future of this story (literally) depends on reader interaction.  
  
Next chapter: This will be the big one. Once I get enough characters (I need 4 SOC commandos, that's it, anything else is extra), I'll get cracking on it. There's going to be lots of action and suspense. Who will find Barry first, the SOC or Umbrella? Will Hunk defect and prevent the spread of the viruses, or will Umbrella strike? Find out in the next thrilling installment of Operation Falling S.T.A.R.S., premiering on Fanfiction.net as soon as possible. Until next time!  
  
P.S. Yeah I know, 2 big chapters in 2 days. Don't expect another until I have 4 characters, but if they aren't in by July 11, I'll go without 'em. 


	4. Locked And Loaded

Disclaimer: Everything that I don't own belongs (obviously) to its original owners. Zander Scotts is owned by Ashley (Sporty-Girl), and Gregory Tomlin is owned by KJ. Kenny Bailey is owned by William. All other characters are owned by me, as is anything I create for the purpose of enhancing this story (unless otherwise stated). Daniel Anderson is owned by me.  
  
Author's Notes: Wow, Chapter 4 already. It seems like just yesterday I was only starting this fic. I guess these things just take on a life of their own. Oh well. This is the big knock-down drag-out fight chapter, and is definitely going to be the longest chapter yet. Enough of my rambling, it's time to get down to business.  
  
Operation Falling S.T.A.R.S.  
  
Chapter Four: Locked and Loaded  
  
Somewhere over the Midwestern United States  
Boeing 757 Northwest Airlines Flight 729  
February 15, 2001 3:20 PM  
  
"Would you get off of me?" Matt whispered, elbowing Mark in the side. Mark had fallen asleep with his head on Matt's shoulder, something which Matt had just become aware of. "Go back to your seat." Mark just gave him a dirty look before retaking his seat two rows behind Matt. Just as Matt was preparing to go back to sleep, Paul plopped in the seat next to him.  
  
"Thanks a lot man, I was trying to get up here for the last fifteen minutes," Paul said, as Matt replied by starring at him. "What?"  
  
"I've been trying to get a little sleep for the last fifteen minutes," Matt replied with a hint of anger in his voice which quickly evaporated. "It doesn't matter; we'll be on the ground in less than a half- hour. What do you need?"  
  
"I think you need to have a talk with Zander. It's his first mission, and I've got a feeling he's going to be a liability," Paul replied. "He didn't even bring any heavy weapons. Just those pansy pistols of his," Paul continued, bringing his voice down to a whisper while mentioning the weapons.  
  
"What's he brought for the mission?" Matt asked with a hint of concern. After encountering the Tyrant, he had done his best to secure large-caliber weapons for the three teams going to Seattle with him.  
  
"Two Colt 1911A .45 cal. pistols and a Desert Eagle AE .50 cal. pistol," Paul answered.  
  
"That's it?" Matt asked incredulously. "Okay, there's nothing we can do about that right now. Send him up when you go back to your seat," Matt replied with a slight sigh. He was more than a little curious as to why Zander had brought such light weaponry, especially after the briefing concerning the amounts of punishment it was theorized Umbrella's monsters could take.  
  
"Hey Zander," Matt said as Paul went back to his seat, and Zander took the un-occupied seat next to Matt.  
  
"Hi Matt, you ready for the mission?" he asked.  
  
"Yeah. In fact, it's the mission I want to talk to you about. This is your first one, isn't it?" he asked as Zander nodded in the affirmative. "Okay. There are a few pointers I want to give you. If you follow them, you should come out alive. I say should because once you're in the field there's no such thing as a guarantee. Trust me when I say I learned that lesson the hard way. The first thing you need to do is lose the pistols. When we encountered the Tyrant in Afghanistan, it laughed at our F-1100s and two frag grenades. The pistols of yours are probably going to do more damage to it if you throw them than by shooting them at it," Matt said as Zander gave a slightly embarrassed look.  
  
"But for the other creatures we found out about from the researchers, they sound like they'll be more susceptible to my pistols. Besides, I'm no good with heavy weapons. They tried to put me on a SAW in basic, and I couldn't hit a thing. Even with the M-16 during marksman trials I barely passed," he replied. "The only weapons I've ever been good with are shotguns and pistols, and I don't have a shotgun."  
  
"Okay, we'll get you set up once we land. In the mean time, I also want to talk to you about being just a tad bit over trusting. Now don't get me wrong, there's nothing wrong about trust. In this business, knowing who to trust is one of the most important things we have. The inverse of this is trusting the wrong person, and getting burned. That's happened to me more than once since I've joined the SOC. In fact, I don't know of anyone in the organization that hasn't been burned by somebody. Your problem is that you believe what people tell you at face value. With the prospect of having parts of the government infiltrated by Umbrella, it's more important now than ever before to be sure of the nature of orders, and of the loyalty of our organization. In fact, I've got a bad feeling that the SOC is going to be shattered before Umbrella's finished. Just listen to your own instincts and trust them. They won't ever steer you wrong. Don't worry about this mission; it's going to be a cake walk. Now when you go back, make sure everyone's awake and ready to get off the plane as soon as the doors are opened. Thanks for coming up," Matt said as Zander gave him a slight smile.  
  
"Thanks a lot Matt. I won't let you guys down out there."  
  
'I know you won't kid,' Matt thought to himself. 'He's got more potential than anyone I've seen in a long time. He just has to learn how to apply it. If he can make it through a few missions and gets some experience, he'll be a force to recon with in the SOC. Now let's get down and to our vehicles without anyone asking any questions.'  
  
"Attention passengers, this is your Captain speaking," the Captain announced, interrupting Matt's chain of thoughts. "We'll be on the ground in Seattle in about ten minutes. Current conditions are pretty poor. Temperature is 42 degrees Fahrenheit with a chance for rain at 70 percent. Visibility is low, and the sky is overcast. We'll be arriving at about 3:27 local time after a slight delay in taking off. At this time, I'd like to ask all flight personnel to take their seats and prepare to land. Thank you."  
  
The last few minutes of the flight were uneventful. The Captain taxied the plane to gate D-3, and after several agonizing minutes of waiting, the doors swung open. Matt grabbed his two bags, and was the second person off the plane behind Paul. Immediately, he was hit with a blast of cold air, and was glad he had brought warm clothing with him. The other seven members of the SOC operation filed off the plane, as Matt counted to make sure they were all there.  
  
"We've got three vehicles reserved with the rental agency," he said after they had all departed the plane. "Sam, Greg, you two come with me. Since you're team leaders, you're driving. Adam, Mark, keep everybody else out of trouble." The three team leaders left their bags with the others, and walked over to the rental desk, where a semi-interested clerk was waiting.  
  
"I'd like to pick up the vehicles we reserved," Matt said as the clerk looked up.  
  
"Name please?" she asked.  
  
"Hugh Roberts," Matt said, giving one of his many aliases. The clerk punched the name into her computer and confirmed that three vehicles were reserved in his name.  
  
"Here are the keys," she said passing them over. "Your vehicles are on level B-2 in the parking garage at the South end of the airport. Enjoy your stay in Seattle," she mumbled, going back to playing a game of Solitaire on her computer. Matt gave one key to Sam and the other to Greg before walking back to where Mark was waiting with Paul and Zack.  
  
"Adam went with the others to round up some food," Mark said before Matt could even ask what had happened to them. Just as Mark finished the statement, Matt saw them returning with several bags of food.  
  
"Thanks a lot guys," he said taking a bag from Adam before he over- balanced and fell over. Each one had carried three bags back, and all of the bags were almost overflowing with a variety of subs, pizzas and bottles of various sodas. "Don't hurt yourselves carrying so much stuff," he added.  
  
"Don't worry, all that government training finally came in handy for something," Adam joked. The others helped relieve their friends of the extra food bags, while Matt again gathered them together. "We've got three SUVs reserved for us in the southern-most parking garage at level B-2. According to the map located back there," Matt said while pointing to a small kiosk about fifty feet behind him, "We have to get to the wing that has the 'A' gates in them. We can take a horizontal escalator there. It's located about two hundred feet ahead, around the corner to the left. After that, it's just standing still and letting the machine work. Once we get the cars, the first place we're going is to the FedEx office. There's some stuff I have to pick up."  
  
"Like what? We brought everything we needed," Mark said.  
  
"Wrong. We only have two clips of ammo each and no explosives. I didn't want to bring them on the plane and risk an accident. Once we pick up the stuff, we're going to find somewhere to stay. Then we'll start looking for Barry," Matt concluded as they began walking for the cars.  
  
"I love these things," Paul said as he stepped on the escalator. They reached the end of the escalator and followed Matt to the parking garage exit at gate A. They decided to take the stairs down to level 2, and quickly located their SUVs.  
  
"I call the black one," Paul said as he raced for the first of the three vehicles.  
  
"Paul, they're all black," Mark said as the rest of the SOC teams reached the vehicles.  
  
"Each team gets a vehicle," Matt said as Greg and Sam opened the trunks of their cars. "Take these too," he said while he tossed them handheld radios. "We'll use these to communicate in case we get separated. Synchronize your watches, it's 3:41 local time right," he began "now. We hit the FedEx office and get the rest of our gear, then find accommodations. Stick together; I don't want us to get lost out here. Let's roll." All three teams entered their SUVs and followed Matt as he led them out.  
  
"Does anyone else think it's strange that the streets are empty?" Greg asked over the radio.  
  
"It must be because of the riots," Matt said. "We're gonna want to avoid those areas of the city. I snagged a copy of yesterday's USA Today while we were in Minnesota. The National Guard's been called out, and the streets where the rioters are have been thoroughly trashed. There's a curfew out, so we're gonna have to stick to the shadows if we go out at night or out of our cars."  
  
"Of course Burton had to pick here of all places to hide," Mark added stating the obvious.  
  
"Okay, we want to take the next left, and then stay on that road for a half mile. The office should be on the right at a street corner. We'll find a place to park and get everyone out," Matt said over the radio. "We've got so much stuff to get it's going to take everyone's help. Paul and Adam, stay with the SUVs and make sure they're there when we get back. We'll get the stuff, and split it up at the hotel." They all made the turn just before the light changed to red, and arrived at the office without incident. There were empty parking spaces all over the place, since it seemed that everyone was staying off the roads to avoid the riots.  
  
"Let's get the stuff and get out of here. Something about this place is giving me the creeps," Zack said.  
  
"Other than the fact that we're operating on U.S. soil against a pharmaceutical company with the power to destroy the world looking for a person who may shoot us on sight? It's probably just the riots. Maybe some tear gas blew down the street from somewhere else in the city," Mark said. "Not to be a downer though."  
  
"Enough chatter, let's just get the stuff and go. I'll be much happier when we get to the hotel and get the mission started," Greg said as most of the others nodded. They walked up the stairs and entered office, which was empty just like the streets. Only one person was working behind the counter, and he was more interested in watching scenes of the rioting on Fox News.  
  
"I'd like to pick up several packages," Matt said, walking right up to him.  
  
"Name please," the man asked as he turned off the T.V. momentarily.  
  
"Andrew Shepard," Matt replied using another of his identities.  
  
"Mind coming back to get them?" he asked. "I'm the only one on shift right now, and it'll take forever for me to get all of the stuff."  
  
"No problem," Matt replied as the others followed him to the back room. They found their packages and secured several carts to wheel them out to their vehicles.  
  
"So, what do you guys need all of this stuff for?" the clerk asked.  
  
"I'm only allowed to say that it's for the U.S. delegation at the WTO meeting," Matt replied. "We're here to make sure it arrives safely."  
  
"Good enough for me," the clerk replied. "Have a nice day, and be careful. They're shut down a bunch of streets leading to the conference center due to heavy rioting and looting. I can't see why a mob of people would go out and trash the stores people spent their hard-earned money on," the clerk continued, this time more to himself as he turned the T.V. back on. Suddenly Adam ran into the office.  
  
"We've got to get a move on guys, we just heard on the radio that there's a mob heading our way," he said, helping the others wheel the stuff to their SUVs. Matt jumped into the driver's seat just in time to watch an angry mob round the corner two blocks in front of him. He started the engine as Mark slammed the trunk shut and Paul jumped into the passenger seat. Mark dove into the back seat, and grabbed a grenade out of the back.  
  
"What is that?" Matt asked, as Mark rolled down his window.  
  
"Never know when you could use a tear gas grenade," Mark replied as he pulled the pin and leaned out the window. He threw the grenade down the street where it landed and bounced towards the crowd, dispensing its contents in front of them. The front rows of the mob began running in all directions trying to escape the gas that was causing them to cry uncontrollably. Matt looked over his shoulder and saw that both Sam and Greg had their vehicles ready to go, and called over the radio, "U-turn. Let's get out of here!"  
  
"Roger that. We're gonna have to get out of the city," Sam spoke over the radio.  
  
"Why's that?" Matt asked.  
  
"Just heard it over the radio. All of the hotels in the city have been locked down. We're not going anywhere in here," Sam replied.  
  
"Okay. We're going to need an alternate base of operations. Mark, get on that map and find me somewhere to stay," Matt said.  
  
"Way ahead of you boss," Greg said over the radio. "We found a hotel in Shoreline. If someone has a cell phone, we could call ahead and get somewhere to stay. It's in a direction which takes us away from the mob, so it sounds like a good option to me," he concluded.  
  
"I've got a phone," Sam said over the radio. "Give me a number and Adam will get on the line with them."  
  
"Okay, we've got a Sheridan Hotel, the number is 555-5624," Greg read off. "Get enough rooms to fit 9 people."  
  
"Jesus!" Matt yelled, swerving out of the way of a patch of fire that popped up in front of his car. He glanced off to his right and saw a few people who appeared to be gang members throwing Molotov cocktails at nothing specifically, just enjoying the fact that the police were unavailable to stop them.  
  
"I've got something for you, you little turds," Matt heard someone say over the radio. He saw something fly out of the window of team 3's SUV, and explode on the ground.  
  
"I see you guys brought a gas grenade too," Matt said over the radio.  
  
"One? When we heard there were riots Adam grabbed a friggin case of 'em and passed em out. We didn't get a chance to give you guys any, so we were surprised to see you have some," Sam said over the radio as Mark gave a groan.  
  
"So I wasted a very expensive grenade to cover you guys and YOU HAD A FRIGGIN CASE FULL OF THEM!" he yelled as he grabbed the radio from Matt. All that could be heard in reply was laughing from Sam's car, and some mumbled curses from Mark.  
  
"Mark, just take one of theirs when we stop," Matt said calming Mark down a bit.  
  
"Looks like we want to take the next left. It should be straight ahead of us about fifteen or twenty miles. Haven't heard anything on the radio involving the area we'll be traveling on so I assume it's secure," Greg said over the radio as Matt cut the wheel sharply to the left.  
  
"Almost overshot the intersection there chief," Matt muttered to himself, obviously unhappy with his slow reactions. Of course ever since the run in with the gang members, they had been traveling down the streets at a speed almost double the limit. Matt knew any further encounters would be bad, especially since the front car, the car that he was driving, had no more non-lethal defenses left.  
  
They made it to the city limits without incident, and began to look for a sign for Shoreline so they could turn off the highway. After five minutes, Paul spotted the sign and Matt took a right to reach the off-ramp. It was relatively easy for them to find the Sheridan after that, and Matt pulled the SUV into the parking lot.  
  
"We're gonna need to stop at a Wal-Mart before we leave and get something," he said as he gestured to the scorch marks on the side of the car.  
  
"Good thing you picked black," Greg said, "It helps reduce the visible scorching."  
  
"Looks like he almost got you guys," Adam said as he gazed at the damage the car had taken from the Molotov.  
  
"We made it out of there. That's good enough for me," Mark said as Sam nodded.  
  
"Okay, let's get our stuff into the hotel and get some rooms. After you get your stuff settled, meet in my room. We'll go over what to do from there," Matt said as he grabbed his duffel bag and one of the cases of ammunition he had shipped out. Everyone grabbed their stuff, and followed Matt into the lobby.  
  
"Is it just me or is everything out here deserted?" Paul asked, getting a few scattered laughs from the others.  
  
"I've got a feeling it might have to do with the riots and Seattle being basically locked down. It's definitely going to make our search for Burton that much harder," Matt said.  
  
"Of course there's always the possibility that he isn't in Seattle," Sam said. "I mean, if we couldn't get somewhere to stay, I doubt he could too."  
  
"He could've been here to see someone, and just stayed with them," Greg said, pointing out the obvious.  
  
"That's likely," Matt said. "We're going to have to either find somewhere to leave our cars, or limit our searches to daytime. We could spend the nights searching the surrounding areas, in case he is out of the city." He walked up to the counter, and seeing that no one was there rang the bell for service.  
  
"Hi. Welcome to the Sheridan Hotel. How many rooms would you like," the clerk asked after Matt rang the bell.  
  
"Five please," he replied.  
  
"How many nights will you be staying?" she asked.  
  
"Three," Matt replied.  
  
"Okay, let's see. $100 per room per night, five rooms, which will come out to," she began as Greg interrupted.  
  
"About $1,500."  
  
"Good enough for me," she responded as Matt pulled a manila envelope from his bag and began counting off hundred dollar bills. He handed over fifteen, and got the keys to the rooms and handed them out.  
  
"I'll take the room by myself. You guys figure out who's rooming with whom. Meet in my room when you're ready," he said as he brought his stuff to the elevators. Since their rooms were on the fifth floor, he didn't feel like walking.  
  
"What room are you in Matt?" Sam asked.  
  
"512," Matt replied looking down at his key.  
  
"Okay. We'll be there ASAP," Sam replied as Matt nodded.  
  
"Take your time. We're not going to accomplish much tonight I think," Matt replied. The elevator arrived at the ground floor, and he stepped in with Paul, Mark and Zack. They rode up to the fifth floor, and Matt walked down the hallway until he reached his room. He put his stuff down and slid his keycard through the slot. He popped the door open and dragged his stuff in, and immediately shut the door behind him. He opened up first his duffel bag and pulled out his body armor, helmet, and F-1100. He put the rifle in the top drawer of the far left dresser, and the armor in the drawer beneath it. He put the helmet in the closet, and then began to put spare changes of clothes in the dresser. After he unpacked the duffel bag, he put it in the closet so that it was covering up the helmet from prying eyes. He then went to work on the case containing ammunition, until he heard a knock at the door.  
  
"Come on in," he said as he walked over and opened the door.  
  
"We're all here," Sam replied as they filed in and sat on the beds and the chairs for the table in the room.  
  
"The first thing we need to take care of is weapons. I need to know exactly what everyone has," Matt said. "So I can distribute some of this ammunition."  
  
"We're way ahead of you boss," Mark said as he pulled out a list. "Everything's on here except what you have, because no one's sure what you've got here."  
  
"I have a few things to add actually," Matt said. "I brought some extra things in case we get into trouble."  
  
"What, pray tell?" Adam asked with a hint of curiosity.  
  
"We'll get to that later. Okay, Mark you're good. You've got your F- 1100 and Paul has his. You both have your Desert Eagles, so that'll take care of you. Take the top box in the upper right left-side dresser drawer. It's got twenty two 7.62mm magazines, ten shotgun magazines, and twelve pistol magazines. I know you guys brought two full magazines for your F- 1100s and pistols, so that should give you guys two full field loads each. Greg, we'll take care of you now. I know you've got your SPAS-12, and a P- 90. You've also got your Scorpion. There should be a box in the lower left dresser drawer with 9mm ammo for the Scorpion and 5.7 mm rounds for the P- 90. I'm going to give your SPAS-12 to Zack, because he's only got three pistols." Matt said as Greg interrupted.  
  
"I'm going to need a second primary weapon, and Zack's going to need shells," he said as Matt smiled.  
  
"Don't worry," he said as he pulled out a long plastic case from the bottom of his FedEx box. "I have plenty of shotgun shells. For your second primary weapon, I assume you're familiar with a Cobra Auto Grenade Launcher."  
  
"Twelve round revolver-style magazine, standard model comes with laser sights and a folding stock," Greg replied.  
  
"Three speed loaders, chambered in 40mm. I've got eighty four shells for you. Thirty high explosive, ten liquid nitrogen, ten napalm, fifteen armor piercing, and fifteen cluster rounds," Matt replied.  
  
"You're short four there chief," Paul replied with a smirk.  
  
"Not supposed to have these," Matt said pulling out four shiny cylinders.  
  
"What are they?" Greg asked.  
  
"White Phosphorous," Matt replied as Greg's face lit up.  
  
"Excellent. That'll make a Tyrant's day miserable." Paul was still looking on in a daze so Greg clarified, "White Phosphorous has been banned from use by the U.S. military. It'll stick to anything and burns. Nothing can extinguish it, and it'll burn underwater."  
  
"Holy crap!" Paul yelled, "That'll do a job on one of those mothers."  
  
"You better believe it. Just so you guys know, I don't have those rounds, and you never saw them. I went through a lot of hassle to get them, so make 'em count. Sam, what do you and Adam have in the way of guns?" Matt asked.  
  
"I've got an F-1100 and two Glock .40 cal. pistols," Sam answered.  
  
"I've got a Remington Auto Shotgun in 12 gauge and two MAC-11s," Adam replied. "I've got two field loads for the MACs, so don't worry about ammo for them. I don't have anything for the Remington though."  
  
"Take Zack and get the big box in the middle drawer on the right-side dresser," Matt said as they did.  
  
"This'll do nicely," Adam said as he pulled out a 100-shell box of 12 gauge shells.  
  
"That'll get you five 20-round magazines for the Remington. There are plenty of boxes in there for you two. I believe a field load is twenty magazines, right?" Matt asked.  
  
"Yeah, that's 800 shells each for two field loads, or a total of sixteen boxes between the two of us," Adam answered. "Looks like you've got more than enough here."  
  
"Yep, so if you guys want to take some extra mags too I won't stop you. I've got my F-1100 and Desert Eagle, with my own ammo already taken care of. I have 6 armor piercing mags and 6 regulars since I'm a little short on cash and those AP rounds are friggin expensive," Matt said moving on. "Zack, how are you fixed for pistol ammo?"  
  
"I've got two mags for the Desert Eagle and 4 for the Colt .45s," Zack replied.  
  
"Okay, there's ammo for the Colts in the case in your room, should be a smaller box labeled .45 cal. Full Metal Jacketed," Matt said. "The Desert Eagle ammo is in the box below the one Mark pulled out."  
  
"Thanks a lot Matt," Zack said as he pulled out the box with the Desert Eagle ammo in it and took twelve clips. He sat back down as Matt continued looking down the list.  
  
"I'd like to go over what I brought for the whole unit to use. You already know about the Cobra, and the shells which are in Paul's case. There're grenades in the case with Sam, and some C-4 in Greg's box. I've got more three Remington Auto Shotguns and two more Cobras for anyone who wants to take some extra firepower. I've also got a half-dozen MAC-11s and four Colt .45s if you need side arms. There's more Cobra ammo in with Mark, and ammo for the MACs and Colts there too. In fact, I think I'm gonna snag one of those extra MACs. Zack's got more shotgun shells, and Adam's got two AK-47s and ammo for them. If we need anything else, we could probably hit one of the near-by gun shops for it. That's about it for the stuff in my case. Everything else is split up between you guys." Matt said as he crossed off several items on his list. "Added together with the tear gas you guys brought," he continued as Mark's face went red, "Of which you owe Mark a grenade, we should have enough to deal with anything in the city. Now how about you Ken?" Matt asked.  
  
"I've got," he began as somebody ran past their door screaming.  
  
"ZOMBIES! OH GOD!" the person, obviously a she from the pitch of the scream, yelled. Matt was the first one out the door, and caught up with her at the end of the hallway.  
  
"Ma'am, please calm down," he said as she began to sob uncontrollably. "Now you said there are zombies. Could you tell us where you saw them please?"  
  
"They, they, oh God it was horrible," she replied as she began to shake. "In the lobby, they broke the door down and started killing people. Someone knocked me into the elevator, and it just started going up. I don't remember hitting any buttons or anything, it just opened up here. We're all going to die!"  
  
"She's in shock," Mark whispered to Matt as he nodded. "Ma'am, please go to your room and lock the door. You should be safe in there. Take this just in case," Mark said handing her a Beretta with two clips of ammo.  
  
"Th- Thank you," she got out before walking back to the elevator and numbly pushing the button to go up.  
  
"Where'd you get the Beretta?" Matt asked.  
  
"I've got three more. They're at the bottom of your list," Mark replied.  
  
"We're going to need them. Load up, looks like we're going hunting," Matt said as he turned to address the whole group. "Take as much ammo as you can carry. I don't know how long we'll be out for. Right now finding Barry is going to be shifted down to a secondary objective. I want to secure this hotel, and start looking for survivors. Team 1 and I will take the lobby and first floor. Team 2 will secure floors 3 and 4, and Team 3 will take floors 1 and 2. Greg, clear out 2 first, then help us with the first floor. Before we do anything, I'm going down to the first floor to take a look."  
  
"Don't believe her?" Sam asked pointing towards the elevator.  
  
"I don't want to take the risk of revealing our presence unnecessarily. Mark, give me a Beretta and two clips. If I'm not back in ten minutes, get to your assigned floors and save the civilians. Let's get a move on," Matt ordered as Mark handed him a Beretta with ammo. He walked over to the elevator, and pushed the call button. The doors swung open as he walked in and pushed the button for the first floor. He slammed a clip into the Beretta and pulled back the slide as the doors closed and the elevator began to descend.  
  
'Why does the music in these things always suck?' he asked himself. He smirked, and then lost all sign of facial expression as he put on his game face. The elevator stopped and the doors swung open showing an abandoned front lobby. Matt stepped out and swung the Beretta across the lobby, scanning it for threats. Immediately he noticed that the front door and windows were smashed, and that there was a foul stench in the air. He noticed a body slumped over the front counter, and carefully approached.  
  
"Whoa!" he yelled as he noticed that the body wasn't alone. Three zombies were eating the legs of the corpse, not noticing him at first. They suddenly stopped eating the corpse, and all gazed at him at the same time, seeming to sense fresh food. Matt ran back to the elevator and pushed the call button as the zombies, joined by several more from the direction of the first floor rooms, began to approach.  
  
"Time to get out of here," he said stepping into the elevator after making sure there wasn't an undead surprise waiting for him. As he pushed the buttons first for the 5th floor and then for the doors to close, he brought the Beretta up and fired three shots into the closest zombie. It stumbled twice, but continued to advance. He aimed slightly higher and fired again, striking the zombie right above its left temple. The zombie fell to the ground, and remained still. The doors began to close as Matt fired shots at two other zombies. Both dropped after well-aimed headshots, and the doors finally closed. The elevator began to rise as Matt hit the clip ejector, checking how much ammo remained in the Beretta's first magazine.  
  
"Three shots," he muttered to himself as he pulled out the fresh clip and slapped it in. The elevator arrived at the fifth floor, and Matt stepped out to see that thankfully there were no members of the living dead waiting for him. He walked down to his room and saw that the others were all gathered and waiting for his return.  
  
"We've got zombies," Matt said as he opened up the dresser drawers with his F-1100, Desert Eagle, body armor and ammo. "Let me go get my combat suit," he said as the others walked out into the hallway. Matt quickly pulled on the jet black combat suit, complete with web belt and Nomex fireproof gloves. The remainder of the suit was also fire-resistant, giving Matt a bit of protection from extreme heat. It was made up of a heat- treated ballistic nylon, giving the wearer a limited amount of protection from shrapnel and other projectiles. He pulled on his combat vest, and began securing clips of ammo to it. He put the Desert Eagle in his hip holster, and grabbed his helmet out of the closet. He slapped a shotgun magazine into its cradle in his F-1100 and followed it up with a standard magazine of 7.62 mm rounds and slung the rifle's sling over his shoulder. He put his helmet on but left the blast shield up, so he could talk to everyone without having to set turn on his tactical radio and run down its batteries needlessly and walked out into the hallway.  
  
"Here you go boss," Mark said after Matt stepped out, tossing him four grenades which Matt clipped on to his web belt. He glanced down to see his favorite combination of two frag grenades, a high explosive grenade, and a smoke grenade.  
  
"Listen up," he said calling all of them together. "We've got zombies. The first floor is fully infested. I got three of 'em but there's more down there. The front entrance has been completely destroyed, and anything could be coming in while we're up here talking. Team 2; do a quick search of floors 3 and 4, then get down to the first floor. That'll be our rendezvous point. We'll decide what to do after the hotel is secure."  
  
"At least on the plus side if Barry's anywhere in the area this'll bring him out," Adam said, "Making our mission easier."  
  
"And on the minus side, someone from Umbrella is here too. Zombies don't just pop out of thin air. Be on your guard, we don't know what else is in the city. Keep to the stairs, and aim for their heads. It's the only thing that can put them down for good," Matt said as he pushed the door open. Everyone else formed up behind him, and branched off when they descended to their assigned floors. Finally only Matt, Mark and Paul were left standing at the door leading to the first floor.  
  
"On three," Matt said as he activated his radio and slid the black- tinted bulletproof shield over his face. Mark and Paul followed suit, as Matt held up three fingers. He kicked the door open as Mark and Paul entered the lobby and swept their F-1100s across the room. It was almost exactly as it had been except for the three bodies lying on the floor near the elevator.  
  
"I'm not seeing anything here boss," Mark said as he shrugged.  
  
"That's what happened to me before. Then I walked over to the body on the counter and, HEY!" he yelled as he noticed that the body formerly slumped over the counter was gone. "It's gone," he continued. He walked over to the desk like he had before, and noticed that the body was nowhere to be found. Suddenly he heard a scratching sound coming from the door separating the front lobby from the remainder of the first floor.  
  
"I'm going to open the door. Mark, Paul be ready to shoot any zombies on the other end," Matt ordered as he grabbed the handle to the door. Mark and Paul took their positions about ten feet from the door, and leveled their rifles at it. Matt pulled the door open and saw the remainder of the body from the desk drag itself towards them. Mark went to shoot it but before he could, Paul fired into its skull completely destroying its head. Matt turned, and saw that several other zombies were entering the room from the destroyed front entrance. He began to fire, aiming carefully to make sure that he hit the zombies in the head as Mark and Paul followed suit. Matt kicked the door closed to make sure they weren't attacked from behind while they dealt with the new threat entering from off the streets.  
  
"This is Team 1," he called over his radio. "We have contact in the front lobby. Area is contained; Sam, Greg, give me a status report."  
  
"Team 2 has found zero zombies on the 4th floor and is moving to secure floor 3," Sam called over the radio.  
  
"Floor 2 is secure," Greg called. "Moving to support you."  
  
"Expect hostiles near the vicinity of the staircase doors," Matt warned.  
  
"Thanks for the warning," Greg replied. "You might want to take cover," he added as the door opened slightly and a gloved hand with a grenade in it appeared.  
  
"Fire in the hole!" Matt called as Greg pulled the pin and rolled the frag grenade into the room. They all took cover behind the counter as the grenade exploded. Matt stood up and waved to Team 3 as they entered the room, and made a beeline for the counter. He brought his F-1100 up and shot two zombies as they tried to get up off the ground after the grenade knocked them down. He scored a headshot on his first round on one zombie, and hit the second one with a shotgun blast, finishing them off.  
  
"What's the situation?" Greg asked after they had arrived.  
  
"Lobby is clear," Mark called out as they all stood up.  
  
"Okay, let's clear out the rest of the first floor. Paul, stay here with Ken and keep the lobby open. Everyone else, secure the first floor. When Sam's team gets down here, send them in after us," Matt said to Paul as he nodded. Ken was busily loading a magazine to one of Matt's Remington Auto Shotguns from a box of shells that Matt had purchased. It was clear that he hadn't had time to finish getting the weapon loaded before Matt had returned, and had been too busy to afterwards. He was also fairly nervous by the way he was fumbling with the shells before loading the shotgun.  
  
"What's wrong Ken?" Matt asked, walking over to him.  
  
"I really don't like killing human beings," he replied shaking his head. "I know these people are already gone, but I still can't help it. I'm a computer expert, not a warrior."  
  
"Look, I can understand that you don't like to shoot people, and I can't ask you to like it. But you're going to have to fight here in order to survive. I don't think these people are going to mind you shooting them, they'd probably be glad to be put out of their misery. If this happened to me, I'd expect any of you to take me out, and I'm sure you all would want the same thing," Matt said. "Now let's get a move on, in case there're any survivors down here."  
  
"On three, pop the door again," Matt said as the team stacked up behind him and Mark. Mark stepped over to the left side of the door, grabbed the handle, and pulled it open. Matt charged into the hallway, and saw that other than the headless body on the floor it was empty. He gingerly stepped over it, and began knocking on doors and checking to see if any swung open. Several non-infected people, as far as he could tell, exited and began asking questions which usually ended when they saw the body on the floor.  
  
"You people need to get into the lobby," Greg said pointing them in that general direction.  
  
"Who are you?" one person asked.  
  
"We're here to evacuate you. There's been some kind of viral outbreak," Matt said pointing to the headless zombie. "It's exactly like the one in Raccoon. You need to get to the lobby while we find any other survivors." Matt continued down until he reached the end of the hallway.  
  
"How many doors did we get no response at?" he asked.  
  
"Ten," Mark replied, having kept count at Matt's request. Sam led Team 2 over to where Matt had gathered the others with him, as he gave them new orders.  
  
"We're going to kick the doors in, and see if anyone else is alive. Knock first then bust in," he ordered. "Be ready in case there're zombies, or any bioweapons." They spread out down the hallway, two per room. Matt kicked open the closest door, and cautiously entered. There wasn't anyone in the main room, as he knocked on the closed bathroom door. As he entered, he saw that there was a body lying on the floor. He approached carefully, until the body began to rise. Matt could tell by the way the person's arm was literally hanging from his shoulder that he was no longer alive, and fired a double blast from his shotgun at point-blank range. The zombie disintegrated under the volley, as Matt turned to leave the room.  
  
"So far we haven't found anyone," Mark said over the radio as Matt and Greg walked back into the hallway. "Six rooms down, four to go." Suddenly, Matt heard yelling coming from the lobby.  
  
"Leave the rest of them," he called over the radio as they started to run towards the lobby. He saw another group of zombies trying to get at the civilians who were cowering behind the counter. Paul and Ken were holding them back, but only barely. Matt took out two zombies who were within five feet of the counter, as the others ran to assist Paul and Ken. He saw Ken using his shotgun like a wild man, dropping any zombie that came close or twitched more than a few times. He gave an inward smile before something outside caught his eye.  
  
'What in the name of God is that?' he asked to himself as he saw some sort of four-legged creature perched not on the ground, but hanging off of the front wall of the hotel. It crawled in as the others were preoccupied with the zombies, and began to approach the civilians.  
  
"Oh no you don't," he said as he pelted the creature with fire. It dropped off the ceiling, and did something unexpected. It shot out its tongue towards one of the civilians, nearly hitting him. Matt took the opportunity to shot the creature in its exposed brain, spattering its head all over the wall. He glanced up to see that the remaining zombies had been dispatched by the others.  
  
"What are we going to do with these people?" Matt heard Sam ask over the radio as he looked at them. There were at least twenty of them, more than they'd be able to fit in the SUVs. Matt took several seconds to consider his options before coming to what he thought was an acceptable conclusion.  
  
"Call the SOC; tell them about the outbreak up here. Get some helicopters here to get the civilians to safety. We've got to find out where the Umbrella team is, and make sure they don't spread any more viruses. The government is probably going to have to nuke the town, and we don't want to be here when it happens. I can't believe Umbrella would do this," Matt said as he reloaded his F-1100.  
  
"Listen up," he said raising the helmet shield so he could talk to the civilians as well. "We're going to get some helicopters to airlift you out. Wait for them on the roof. Knock on the doors on the upper floors and tell them the same thing. Help will be here soon." Matt added.  
  
"What are these things? Why are they here?" one brave person asked, standing up.  
  
"I have no idea," Matt lied, knowing he couldn't tell these people the truth. They slowly got up, and walked to the stairs to spread his message about their salvation. "Anyone who needs more ammo or wants more weapons go get them now. I'll stay here and watch the lobby. Somebody bring me back an Auto Shotgun, please." Everyone but Mark went up to get more stuff.  
  
"I'm good boss. Didn't even get a chance to shoot anything, and I've already got another weapon," he said as he unslung one of the AK-47s that Matt had purchased. "Always liked this gun."  
  
"I really have a bad feeling about this place. I can't help but feel that this outbreak was as much our fault as Umbrella's," Matt said as he sat down on the counter. "I mean, this is too much of a coincidence. First we hear that Barry's here, then the virus spreads. I wonder if it was meant to target us," he told his friend. "Why does this make me think that we might have a sell-out in our government?"  
  
"Maybe because, somewhere, there is one. I don't like this either Matt; there are too many things that are happening to make this coincidence. Now let's get on the horn to the SOC and get these people out of here," Mark replied. Matt walked over to the payphone that was miraculously still working, and dialed a special contact number for the SOC headquarters.  
  
"May I ask who's calling, please?" the person who answered the phone asked.  
  
"Andrew Hopkins for the Assistant Director, please. It's an emergency," Matt replied. The name he had used was one of several specially set up for emergency uses when contacting the SOC.  
  
"This is Williams," came a somewhat-older sounding voice a few seconds later.  
  
"Assistant Director, this is Ryan. We've got a big problem in Shoreline, Washington. There's been a release of one of Umbrella's viruses, and it's been confirmed. I think one of their teams is here, looking for one of the Raccoon S.T.A.R.S. survivors. We're currently at a Sheridan Hotel in the city, with a group of civilians who need evacuation."  
  
"Slow down son, I'm heading towards the command center right now. What do you need in the way of support?" the Assistant Director asked, as Matt could tell for the first time that he was using a cell phone.  
  
"I'll need helicopters to get these people off of the roof of the hotel, for starters. I'm also going to need the city barricaded, and if the infection is severe enough, a nuclear weapon," Matt replied as Williams sighed.  
  
"You want to implement the Raccoon Directive, then?" he asked.  
  
"If the situation cannot be contained, yes sir. Just like we talked about."  
  
"I can't believe we're going to have to nuke another U.S. city," Williams said, mostly to himself. "You'll have whatever you need. Just get out safely, and find that Umbrella team."  
  
"Yes sir," Matt said before hanging up the phone. The elevator had just returned from the 5th floor with the other SOC members on it, as Greg tossed Matt the Auto Shotgun. He checked and saw that the magazine was already loaded, and strapped it onto his back. He walked over to Greg, who had grabbed another twenty seven magazines. Matt secured them wherever he had room, and saw that Sam and Paul had grabbed the extra grenade launchers. Ken took the remaining AK-47, and a MAC-11 to go along with his Glock and Remington. That reminded Matt that he had a MAC too, and he pulled it out of his backpack and placed it in a holster on his left hip.  
  
"Before we do anything, we have to get those last four rooms," Matt said as Sam nodded.  
  
"There are only four rooms left. We can have them done in less than five minutes," he replied. They walked back over to the hallway and began to check the remaining rooms. Matt was slightly disappointed to find nothing in the first room, since he had a feeling someone else was alive here.  
  
"Last room," Greg warned over the radio as he and Matt took up positions outside.  
  
"Anyone in here?" Matt asked as he pounded on the door. No one replied, so he backed up and kicked the door open. What greeted him wasn't a pretty sight.  
  
"Oh man" Greg said as he caught a glimpse of the mutilated bodies. Matt walked over and checked each for signs of life before turning away.  
  
"We can't let them come back," he said as he pulled out his Beretta. He put a shot in to each of the corpses, ensuring they wouldn't come back as undead. "Let's check the bathroom."  
  
"On three," Greg said giving a countdown with his left hand while his right gripped the door knob. Matt's F-1100 was leveled at the door ready for anything. The door swung open to reveal two small children, one older boy and one younger-looking girl, hiding in the bathroom.  
  
"Two survivors here!" Matt yelled as he walked into the room. He motioned for the kids to follow him outside, as he tried to keep them from seeing the bodies in the corner of the room.  
  
"Who are you?" one of them asked.  
  
"We're here to," Matt began unsure how to phrase it, "rescue as many people as we can."  
  
"What happened to our parents?" the boy asked.  
  
"I'm sorry," Matt replied as he led them out into the hallway.  
  
"Do you two know the way up to the roof?" he asked them as they walked past the zombie corpse in the hallway, hoping to distract them from it.  
  
"I think so," the boy replied taking his sister by the hand and leading her to the stairs.  
  
"They'll get out," Mark said as he put his hand on Matt's shoulder.  
  
"They shouldn't have to experience this stuff," Matt replied. "We've got more work to do. There have to be more survivors in this city. We've got to find them. I've got a hunch that we're going to want to be at the police station."  
  
"Why there?" Sam asked.  
  
"It's probably the safest place in the city now. While I was reading reports collected from survivors from Raccoon, it seemed that at one point or another most of them at least thought about heading there," Matt replied. "It's a fairly safe bet. Even if there aren't many civilians there, we can co-ordinate with any of the surviving cops. The extra firepower would be nice. Now how are we going to get there?"  
  
"I wouldn't advise using the SUVs. They're in a safe location right now, and by moving them we could put them at risk to taking damage or being destroyed. If we lose them, we might be in trouble," Greg said as most of the others nodded.  
  
"Okay. While I was looking at the map to find the hotel, I also found out the police station is three blocks up the road and two over on the intersection of Maple and Red Streets. If we book it, we can be there in a few minutes," Adam said as he looked at Matt to make the final decision.  
  
"We're burning daylight people," Matt said even though it was already pushing 9:00 PM. "Let's get to that station. Team 3, cover our rear. Team 2, cover our flanks. We'll take point. If you see something shout it out, or if it isn't friendly, shoot it. I want to be there in less than five minutes." Matt took the point and was the first one out on the street. He looked up and down it, and saw the burning wrecks of cars all over the place. There was a slight odor in the air, carrying the smells of death with it. They immediately took off running up the street, with their weapons sweeping in all possible directions an attack could come from. Matt caught a glimpse of another of the creatures with long tongues, before it ate six rounds to the upper body from Mark's F-1100. He heard several shotgun blasts fired, but didn't stop or turn to look. They reached the turn they had to make, and Matt waved on the others to count and make sure they were all there. Once he saw they were all there, he sped up until he was back at the front, just in time to see the front doors of the police station. His heart fell as he saw a pack of zombies in front of it, pounding at the doors.  
  
"Greg, take 'em down," Matt said waving Greg forward with his Grenade Launcher. He snapped the chamber closed, and took careful aim at the zombies.  
  
"Fire in the hole," he muttered squeezing the trigger. The zombies were tossed all over by the explosion, giving them a window to reach the door. Matt waved the others forward, and took off running for the door. Any zombie that moved was quickly dispatched, as they reached the front door. Matt turned the knob and pushed the door, but it only opened a few inches.  
  
"Anyone, open the door!" he shouted as he turned to see several dogs charging down the street from the opposite direction they had come from. "Kill 'em all!" he added as he began to fire at the zombified dogs. They fell in pieces as the flurry of rounds cascaded over them. He heard the door open fully, and turned to see two cops standing there with shotguns at the ready.  
  
"Fall back, into the building," Matt ordered as he backed into the station, ceasing fire as to not hit any friendlies. They all managed to make it into the station, while the officers pushed the heavy doors closed. The other SOC commandos split between covering them and helping to move the various barricades back into position. When they had finished, Matt gave a sigh of relief.  
  
"Who are you?" the first cop asked.  
  
"I'm not allowed to say," Matt replied. "But we're here to help you."  
  
"Funny, that's what the other group said," the officer replied. "In fact, they said that there might be another group like them coming. That the other group was responsible for the outbreak," he added pointing the shotgun at Matt.  
  
"We didn't do that. I'm Agent Donaldson, with the FBI. Here," he said taking a badge and id out of one of the pockets of his suit. "Who was the other group?" he asked as the officer scanned the badge.  
  
"They were from Umbrella. They were looking for a bunch of terrorists from SKY or SUN, or some team like that. Said they had spread the virus here to show their support for the Taliban," the officer replied handing his badge back.  
  
"They're lying. Umbrella was responsible for the virus. The S.T.A.R.S. member they were looking for was helping to fight against him. We have to find that team. Do you know where they are, or how many were with them?" Matt asked as he began reloading his weapons.  
  
"The last I heard, they were checking the second floor for the S.T.A.R.S. guy. He had been helping us hold off the zombies, but disappeared a little afterwards. He's definitely in the building though. I counted five of them. All I know for sure is that there are fewer of them than there are of you," the cop replied.  
  
"Alright. Can you guys hold the lobby?" Matt asked. "There'll be an evac helicopter here soon. We have to get that team."  
  
"Give 'em a shot for us," the second cop said. "We've got the front. Go get them."  
  
"Where'd you get the badge?" Mark whispered when the cops were out of earshot.  
  
"Around," Matt replied with a slight laugh. "We're going upstairs," he added, pointing to the spiral staircase in the rear of the lobby. "Team 1 will take the left side, Team 2 will take the right, and Team 3 will be the reserve. Give a shout if you find the Umbrella team, or Barry. Ken, we're going to need you down here monitoring the security cameras. We've got to move people." They ran up the stairs, splitting off into their assigned areas. Ken ran over to the security desk, and began to patch in to the various cameras throughout the building, specifically the ones on the second floor.  
"Stay close," Matt said as he tightened the grip on his F-1100. They crept down the hall, straining for anything that could help them find Barry. Suddenly, a series of gunshots erupted from one of the rooms to the front. Matt heard several automatic weapons, and a booming revolver, he guessed, replying.  
  
"Move it!" he yelled as they ran down the hall. "This is Team 1. We may have confirmed the locations of both Barry and the Umbrella team. Get over here Greg."  
  
"On our way," he replied as the now shorthand team ran to support Matt's team. Matt continued down the hall until a heavy slug exited one of the rooms, making a large splinter in the door. Matt stopped, and got down on his knees. He peeked in through the keyhole, and saw something that he immediately disliked. There were four Umbrella commandos in the room, peppering an overturned couch with automatic fire. Suddenly, they stopped shooting.  
  
"Come out with your hands up, Burton," one of the commandos said.  
  
"No," what Matt guessed was Barry said, adding a shot from a revolver to the statement.  
  
"Here's what we're going to do," he whispered. "Does anyone have a flashbang?"  
  
"You better believe it boss," Mark said removing the grenade from his belt. Team 3 arrived, as Matt took the grenade.  
  
"As soon as I toss the grenade, take out the Umbrella goons. Take them alive if possible. I want to find out where the missing man is," Matt said as he cracked the door open. He pulled the pin on the grenade as the others looked away, and rolled it into the room. He managed to close the door just before the flashbang went off, and quickly pulled it open and charged into the room.  
  
"Clear," he called out as he kicked an M4 carbine away from one of the downed troopers. The remaining soldiers were similarly disarmed, as Matt pointed his rifle at the head of one of them.  
  
"Where's your leader?" he asked as Barry poked his head up, revolver at the ready.  
  
"I'm in charge," the Umbrella soldier said.  
  
"Where's the fifth person?" Matt asked as the soldier laughed.  
  
"The traitor? He's been taken care of," the man replied giving a slight laugh. Matt smacked him in the face with his F-1100, and threw him back to the ground.  
  
"Where is he?" he asked again, starting to lose patience.  
  
"In a supply closet at the end of the hallway. He lost his nerve, and decided not to carry out our orders," the soldier replied.  
  
"What orders?" Matt asked.  
  
"To destroy Seattle."  
  
"Mr. Burton, are you okay?" Matt asked, turning his attention from the Umbrella commando to the ex- S.T.A.R.S. member.  
  
"Fine. Who are you?" he asked.  
  
"My name is Matthew Ryan, commander of the Central Intelligence Agency's Special Operations Command Team 1. Dan, go to the supply closet and bring the defector here please," he added.  
  
"You got it Matt," Dan replied as he put his rifle back over his shoulder and pulled out a MAC-11.  
  
"Guys, you better get moving. You've got incoming of the big, gray and ugly type. Get down here to the lobby fast," came Ken's voice over the radio.  
  
"Move it people!" Matt yelled as he lifted one of the captured Umbrella soldiers on to his feet. "Run for the lobby if you want to live," he said to the soldier who promptly took off as fast as he could. "Get to the lobby!" he added as the others took off down the hallway. Matt brought up the rear, right behind Barry. They made it back to the staircase just in time to see a Tyrant charging down the hallway opposite them. They ran down as fast as they could, as Greg pulled out a brick of C-4. He stuck it to the staircase, and waited for the Tyrant to step on it. The others reached the bottom as the Tyrant stepped on to the stairs. Greg waited until it was right next to the C-4 before triggering it, and dropping the Tyrant down to the floor.  
  
"Give me a fire wall," Matt called out as a stream of grenades landed in front of the Tyrant. A blazing inferno popped into existence in front of it, searing the top layers of its flesh.  
  
"Greg, bust out the White Phosphorous," Matt said looking over his shoulder. Greg popped out two high explosive rounds, and replaced them with two of the White Phosphorous rounds Matt had given him earlier. He brought the launcher up to his shoulder and clicked the laser sight on. The small red dot settled right on the Tyrant's torso as Greg squeezed the trigger.  
  
"Take cover," he said as he fired the round. It struck the Tyrant, and immediately began to burn through its flesh. The Tyrant bellowed, enraged, and began to charge through the firewall, cooking off even more of its flesh.  
  
"Number two," Greg said pulling the trigger again. This round burst on the Tyrant's left leg, burning through the flesh and starting to char the bone beneath. The Tyrant screamed, and collapsed to one knee.  
  
"Fire at will!" Matt yelled as the SOC teams unloaded on the Tyrant. Ken skidded up next to Matt, and began to fire his shotgun at the Tyrant. Every shot that hit it blew off chunks of flesh, until the monster finally went down. It was still burning, but no longer moving.  
  
"Let's make sure it doesn't come back," Sam said as he cautiously approached the Tyrant's corpse. He leveled his F-1100 at its head, and fired off a double blast from the shotgun attachment. Its thick skull cracked open, and more blood flew from the fresh wounds. Sam emptied the remainder of his clip into the Tyrant's head, until it was nothing more than an unrecognizable mass.  
  
"Adios," he said as he pulled the pin on a high explosive grenade, and rolled it towards the corpse. It stopped right next to it, and detonated, causing even more damage to the remainder of the mangled weapon.  
  
"It's gone," Matt said as he reloaded his rifle. "Until the helicopters get here, we keep that thing under watch. I don't want it coming back to life on us."  
  
"Dude, we turned it into fish food. There's no way its coming back," Paul said as he gave Mark a high-five. "That thing ate more than its fair share of lead."  
  
"How many people are in here?" Matt asked as the two cops again walked over.  
  
"There're twenty people in the parking garage. There's also fifteen cops down there," the first one replied.  
  
"We're evacuating everyone. Do you have a phone I can use?" Matt asked as the officer pointed him towards the security desk. He picked up the phone, heard the dial tone, and called the SOC. This time, the Assistant Director picked up the phone.  
  
"Ryan, we've got a National Guard regiment surrounding the city and preparing to enter it. The rescue helicopters already made it to the hotel, and are ready to extract your team and any other survivors. When the National Guard unit pulls out, we have two F-117/As orbiting prepared to level the city."  
  
"We've got 38 more survivors at the police station who need to be airlifted out as well. We'll be waiting on the roof," Matt said.  
  
"They'll be there in fifteen minutes, after they unload the other survivors. In the mean time, find a nice safe spot to wait," Williams replied.  
  
"Yes sir," Matt said as he hung up the phone. "Evac's coming in fifteen minutes," he called to everyone in the lobby.  
  
"Finally," Mark said as he lifted the shield on his helmet.  
  
"Hey guys," Dan called out as he walked into the lobby, "Look who I found." He had the Umbrella soldier with him, and walked over to the group.  
  
"Why you," Barry began as he rushed the Umbrella agent.  
  
"Easy fella, he's a friendly," Sam said as he and Mark restrained him from killing the defector.  
  
"Who are you?" Matt asked, "And why did they put you in the closet?"  
  
"My name's Robert, but when I was in Umbrella my codename was Hunk. They put me in there because I finally had enough of doing Umbrella's bidding. I tried to stop them from spreading the viruses, but as you can tell I wasn't successful. We had been tracking Mr. Burton since we arrived two days ago, and finally located him in Shoreline. That was when everything went wrong."  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
Shoreline, Washington USA  
Outside Howard Johnson Hotel  
February 15, 2001 3:00 PM  
  
"This is Pierce. We've located the target and are pursuing him," came the voice from the driver of the black van.  
  
"We can't take him in public," Hunk said as Pierce shifted the van into gear and pulled out in pursuit of the pickup truck containing Barry Burton.  
  
"I know. We'll wait for him to stop somewhere and then release the viruses," he replied as he looked back at the other three soldiers in the van.  
  
"I could take him right now," one of them muttered looking through the scope of a PSG-1 sniper rifle.  
  
"If you have the shot, take it," Pierce said as the van rolled to a stop at a red light.  
  
"Just a few more seconds," the sniper replied settling the crosshairs on Burton's head. Just as he squeezed the trigger, the light changed to green and the pickup accelerated. The bullet struck the driver's side mirror instead of Barry's head. He immediately floored the accelerator, shooting ahead of the pursuing van.  
  
"Let him go," Hunk said as the van began to accelerate. Instead of following his orders, Pierce continued to follow the pickup as it turned onto a side street. The van took the turn wide, and shot up onto two wheels as Pierce struggled to bring it back under control. It settled back down, as the undercarriage smacked the ground hard. The van skidded to a stop as Barry's pickup continued down the road.  
  
"We lost him because of you," Pierce said pulling out a pistol and pointing it at Hunk.  
  
"I told you not to chase him. You're the one who lost control of the van," Hunk replied snatching the pistol out of Pierce's hands.  
  
"It doesn't matter. There's one way to draw him out for sure," Pierce said as he rolled down his window.  
  
"What are you doing?" Hunk asked as Pierce threw a vial out onto the street where it shattered. By the time it landed he had already started to drive again, and had the window rolled back up.  
  
"Eliminating our target," he replied. "Burton will almost certainly go to the police station after the infection begins to spread through the city. We can ambush him there."  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
"After that, we arrived here. The virus had spread remarkably fast, and zombies had already begun to roam the streets. Once we were inside, they others lured me upstairs where they confronted me about my plans to leave the company. As you can see, they won the fight and as far as I can remember knocked me out and threw me in the closet. I woke up to find that the door was locked shut, and I had been disarmed. Unfortunately for them, they missed something important," Hunk said as he pulled a vial containing a green-colored liquid out from a pouch in his pants.  
  
"That isn't what I think it is, is it?" Matt asked as Hunk passed the vial over. It was clearly labeled with a large 'T' on the side and lid.  
  
"Yes. A vial of live T-virus," Hunk replied with a faint smile. "Some hard evidence to use against Umbrella."  
  
"Helicopters are here," Mark said as he walked away from the front of the lobby.  
  
"Can you two get the people in the garage?" Matt asked the two cops.  
  
"We're all over it. You guys did enough to take out ugly over there," the second one replied pointing his shotgun in the direction of the felled Tyrant.  
  
"Our work here is done," Matt said as he walked towards the elevator. "Time to go home people. Mr. Burton, would you be so kind as to provide us the benefit of your company on the helicopter?"  
  
"Um, okay," he replied after a slight pause. "Why are you so interested in me?"  
  
"We need all of you," Matt replied. "Your knowledge of Umbrella and their bioweapons is going to be priceless. Without it, the SOC is basically operating blindly against Umbrella. We need the info you have on their leaders, personnel, ongoing weapons projects, everything." Matt hesitated before adding, "You might give us a fighting chance."  
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
Well, that's chapter 4 in the bag. It just about doubled the length of my story to this point. Another 12,000 words closer to my goal of obtaining a membership in the '100,000 Word Club.' I'm a little disappointed that I only got 3 characters for this section, but that's okay. There'll be plenty of opportunities later on for volunteers. Then again, upping the rating and length are probably going to help draw in some more readers.  
  
My thanks go out to everyone who's reviewed this story so far, and everyone who contributed characters. Without you, this chapter would've sucked a lot more. Still, I really don't like the way it turned out. I shouldn't have started writing it before I had received all of the characters I was going to. You can tell when I got a character by how early it appears in the chapter (Dan Anderson was created today; I just went back a little and threw him in). Enough of my rambling, you aren't paying your internet and electric bills for this crap.  
  
Next chapter: Big plot twist coming up. Shoreline is nuked, as the SOC finds out just how much influence Umbrella is able to exert on the U.S. Government. Several hard choices are going to have to be made, and sacrifices are going to be demanded. Also, the failure of his soldiers to eliminate Barry and the SOC teams is going to prompt Spencer to begin looking at drastic solutions to his problems. All of this and more will be found in Chapter 5- Hero's Resolve.  
  
Please Read & Review this story. I'm continuing the story anyway the review front turns out, but it'll be a little more developed with a few character submissions (thank you to everyone who did again, you don't have to submit more; this is to people who haven't yet). Get the characters in please! 


	5. Hero's Resolve

Disclaimer: Resident Evil is owned by Capcom. All reader-submitted characters are owned by their owners and are used only with the consent of their creators. Everything else that the author has created (during one of my bouts of insanity) belongs to me.  
  
Author's Notes: I'd like to start off with an apology to KJ (ducks rotten fruit and vegetables thrown at him). I'm sorry! Greg's shotgun should be a USAS-12, not SPAS-12. All references to it from here on out will (hopefully) be correct. If anyone else finds mistakes (other than grammatical, which seem to be caused by some kind of uploading bug, trust me it's fine in MS Word), please let me know so I can feel shamed and go cry in a corner. Now that I have that out of my system, I want to try something new for this chapter; a dedications section.  
  
I'm proud to announce the dedications of this chapter. First off, this is dedicated to my adoring (yeah right) fan base. Without you, after the first chapter the only place this story would've existed would be on my hard drive. You people make it all possible. *Holds up a big "For the Fans" sign, then realizes that no one's around*. Please keep reading and reviewing, and please submit a character if you haven't yet. I'll take characters up until the next to last chapter, and I guarantee that if they're reasonable (see chapter 2 for guidelines), they'll make it in. If you submit at the last chapter though, you're SOL (Sorry, Out of Luck).  
  
The second group I want to dedicate this to is to Sporty-Girl, KJ and William, for submitting characters. You helped out a lot, and allowed me to create a more interesting story. I'm very appreciative of you all taking the time to come up with someone, especially knowing that he/she (only he so far) may not be making it out alive (even though I haven't told you that so far). Don't worry, if a reader-created character is going to bite it, you'll get advanced warning (not that that's going to happen or anything).  
  
I'd also like to give an individual thanks to Sporty-Girl for accepting Matt Ryan for her story Resident Evil: Blood Ties. It's very well written and a must-read for anyone who's reading this story. This fic is Matt Ryan's prequel to BT, so hop on over and take a look at it (you won't be disappointed). I've discovered that writing a prequel while the present- day story is in progress is very interesting (but so far we're pulling it off), and when it works, it's pretty cool. We've both swapped ideas, and if you read the reviews for her story (and the story itself), you'll find a few spoilers as to where I'm going to take this project of mine.  
  
Lastly, I'd like to dedicate this chapter to another great Pennsylvanian RE fanfic author: striker. His RE: Armageddon series is simply amazing, and should be required reading for any aspiring RE author. You'll have to do an author search, and if my memory is correct, the one you're looking for should have 15-ish stories authored. Check out his Judgment Day story as well. Striker, if you're out there somewhere, please come back and update!  
  
Okay, enough of my 500+ word ramble. I'm ready to start chapter 5.  
  
Operation Falling S.T.A.R.S.  
  
Chapter Five: Hero's Resolve  
  
Somewhere over the Midwestern United States  
U.S. Military Black Hawk Helicopter  
February 16, 2001 1:13 AM  
  
"So your orders were to find me and bring me back to your base," Barry said loudly over the roar of the helicopter's engine.  
  
"And to get as much of the information your group has on Umbrella as possible," Matt replied completing the thought.  
  
"How did you find out about what Umbrella was doing?" Barry asked as Matt gave a slight smile.  
  
"I, Paul and Mark," he began pointing to Paul and Mark, "Were assigned to raid a suspected Taliban WMD sight. When we arrived, instead of the Taliban we found an Umbrella facility. They were working on some kind of experimental Tyrant, when it escaped. One of the workers went nuts, shot another one, and locked the survivors in the room with the Tyrant. He just stood there laughing until we intervened. We managed to rescue eight of the nine people in the room, and escaped the facility. The Tyrant and the crazy worker weren't so lucky, and neither was the guy who set the self-destruct into motion. After that, we started monitoring Umbrella's communications, and found out you were in Seattle. So far, we've been operating against them for five days."  
  
"You mean to say that you took out one of their facilities and learned the truth only five days ago?" Barry asked. He seemed shocked to hear that it was such a short time that they had been fighting Umbrella.  
  
"This time five days ago, we were in Afghanistan," Matt replied, answering Barry's question in a round-about way. "Anyway, in that time we've been trying to get access to the Echelon system to run Umbrella through it, and start intercepting their communications. The NSA has been less than helpful though."  
  
"We ran into the same problem. There are obviously Umbrella agents in the government. Even the S.T.A.R.S. teams have been split in their support. We had rallied a few of the other teams to the cause, but over time our numbers have been dropping off. Of course, they only started to go after some strategically applied political pressure to obey the national directors. Never mind the fact that all of them are in some way related to someone highly placed in Umbrella," Barry said with disgust. "Umbrella managed to worm its way into the top leadership positions in the S.T.A.R.S. organization, and has just about every team obeying their whims. It hasn't been easy living with the knowledge that the group who set our team up to die is now running the national organization."  
  
"I can understand how you feel. I've been left out to dry a few times before, usually with unpleasant consequences for the guilty party on my return. We can put some pressure of our own on them, and see if we can't get a few of the others to come back around. In the mean time, I need to know where to go to get the information you have on Umbrella," Matt said getting right back to business.  
  
"The others aren't going to trust you right off the bat," Barry said. "Why don't I go back to your base with you, and after your organization has finished debriefing me, I can get the information from them and get it to you."  
  
"That sounds fine to me, but you'll have to talk with the Assistant Director first," Matt replied with a slight shrug. "We've got a lot of planning to carry out before moving on to the next phase of operations against Umbrella."  
  
"And what phase is that Matt?" Mark asked sitting up and listening attentively.  
  
"We hit them where it hurts. It's time to step up operations, and begin hitting the labs where the viruses and those creatures come from. Umbrella's owed a little payback from attacking Shoreline, and we're going to deliver it to them in spades," he replied. "Once we get back to the SOC, we can start to coordinate our counter-attack. I'm not going to let the destruction of Shoreline go unpunished on my watch."  
  
"Amen," Mark said. By this time, everyone but Matt, Mark and Barry had gotten to sleep, knowing that they had a long trip ahead of them until they got back to the SOC.  
  
"How long are we on the Black Hawk for?" Mark whispered, taking care not to wake the others up.  
  
"We'll be here for at least another hour. We'll be stopping in Colorado and catching a C-130 back to D.C. Once we arrive, we'll have a helicopter waiting to take us to the SOC headquarters. Get some sleep," Matt replied as he tried to settle into the uncomfortable seat where he was currently positioned. "Because once we get back, there isn't going to be much time to rest."  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
Umbrella Incorporated Main Office  
Paris, France  
February 16, 2001 6:45 AM  
  
"You mean to tell me that not only did the team fail to eliminate Burton, but that they were all captured by the American commandos!" Andrew Spencer roared as he slammed his fist down on the desk. "How incompetent are the people in my employ?!" he asked rhetorically.  
  
"Sir, please calm down," the aide who had brought the bad news replied.  
  
"CALM DOWN? THERE'S AN UNKNOWN NUMBER OF AMERICAN COMANDOS ALLIED WITH THE S.T.A.R.S. AND YOU WANT ME TO CALM DOWN!" he yelled as the aide cringed. "THIS COULD BE A DISASTER! THEY HAVE A LIVE SAMPLE OF THE T-VIRUS FOR GOD'S SAKE!"  
  
"But sir," the aide began as Spencer cut him off.  
  
"OUT! GET OUT OF MY OFFICE NOW!" The aide ran for the door, and managed to close it just before a paperweight crashed into the door. Spencer began to destroy his office, in a blind fury about the latest failure of Umbrella's 'army'. He was in the process of kicking his office chair when there was a knock at the door.  
  
"WHAT!?" he asked as the door opened a crack. Since the lights were off and the curtains drawn, it was hard for Spencer to make out the face of the person who had opened the door.  
  
"Lord Spencer, I have good news. Your fears about the Americans receiving a live sample of the T-virus are unfounded. Before Hunk left, we put a capsule of the vaccine into his vial of the virus. By the time the Americans can analyze it, they'll find out they have nothing," the mysterious person replied.  
  
"But what about the prisoners? And the Americans being allied with the S.T.A.R.S., how do you suggest I handle that?" Spencer asked lowering his voice slightly.  
  
"It's only a matter of time before we find out the location of the Americans' base of operations. Once we find it, we can shatter them, and wipe out the largest external threat to the company."  
  
"What do you mean by external?" Spencer asked. "Is someone plotting against me inside my own company?"  
  
"There have been rumors that the Board of Directors may attempt to replace you. Right now they're backing Trent, but he hasn't acknowledged them or made his intention to challenge you clear." Spencer took a few minutes to absorb the information he had just learned, before righting his chair and sitting down.  
  
"Do you believe Trent will try and overthrow me?" he asked as the mystery person laughed.  
  
"Trent? He won't attempt to cross you. The other members of the board though are another story. If Trent declines, they'll just find someone else to back. You'll have to deal with the problem at its source."  
  
"You mean to eliminate the board?" Spencer asked slightly confused. "But the company's stocks will plummet."  
  
"Not if they die in a terrorist bombing or an unfortunate accident," the unknown person replied.  
  
"How?" Spencer asked becoming more interested in the plan.  
  
"There's a popular restaurant that almost all of the board members go to. If bombs were to go off, say on the ground floor and the building collapsed, we could blame it on the S.T.A.R.S. or HCF, and make a case for their being hunted down and eliminated."  
  
"I like the way you think. You've been an excellent consultant to this company, and have proved your worth many times over. Now I know why we kept you alive," Spencer said with a smirk on his face.  
  
"Something I thank you for every day," the figure replied before he turned around and walked out of the office. "And soon, I won't need to keep you alive anymore."  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
Somewhere over the Northeastern United States  
U.S. Air Force C-130 Hercules  
February 16, 2001 8:00 AM  
  
"Wake up sleepy head," Paul said as he shoved Matt. He looked around groggily before snapping to a state of full awareness.  
  
"I'm guessing we're just about there then," he replied as Paul nodded.  
  
"The pilot just said we'll be on the ground in fifteen minutes. The helicopter's already getting spun up and ready to go. It'll be about twenty minutes from the airport to home."  
  
"Good. I'm looking forward to getting off this thing," Matt replied with a yawn. "Has there been any news about Shoreline yet?"  
  
"The National Guard pulled out at 3:30 after pulling out about three hundred people. Added with everyone we got out, and about five or six hundred people made it out. The flyboys glassed it around 3:45, and recovery teams are moving in as we speak," Mark said taking over for Paul. "They're expected to discover that a truck transporting two ICBMs for destruction had an accident, and the warheads detonated."  
  
"Not everyone's going to believe that," Matt said pointing out the obvious.  
  
"Would you rather they found out about the truth?" Mark asked as Matt nodded in the negative. "I didn't think so. Until we get an ironclad case against Umbrella, we can't let this get out."  
  
"It doesn't mean that I have to like this. We're really going to ruin Umbrella's day when we get back," Matt said as the others nodded solemnly.  
  
"No matter what, we're gonna nail them," Zack said with a smile.  
  
"Right on!" Ken replied giving him a high-five.  
  
"Hey keep it down, I'm trying to sleep for a few more minutes here," Greg said as he threw a soda can he had drained back over Iowa. It hit Mark in the side of the head, who proceeded to curse and throw it back.  
  
"Easy you two," Matt said intercepting the can before it could hit Greg.  
  
"We'll be on the ground in ten minutes," one of the members of the flight crew called as the members of the SOC muttered a collective "Thank God."  
  
"So Hunk, er I mean Robert, what can you tell us about Umbrella's facilities in the U.S.?" Matt asked.  
  
"Since Raccoon, most of Umbrella's facilities in the U.S. have been closed down. They want their experiments to stay secret, so they began moving to countries with less-active media. There're still three active facilities. As far as I can tell, there's an electronic warfare building somewhere on the east coast. They have several hackers based there, and have been monitoring and hacking into secure files and communications. There's a chemical processing plant where they refine the chemicals they need to keep their bioweapons alive somewhere in the mid-west, and a training facility for their private army in the southwestern desert," he replied as Matt nodded.  
  
"Sounds like the EW facility might be the closest, and most important to take out," he replied. "We'll start looking for it when we get back. Ken?" he asked as he looked over to the computer expert. "Do you think you can come up with a trace program? We're going to leave some bait for Umbrella's goons."  
  
"Sure thing," he replied. "I'm going to need some time though, and it's going to have to be as close to undetectable as I can make it. If they take the bait for a long enough time though, they're mine."  
  
"Great. We'll be on the ground momentarily, so round up your gear. The helicopter's going to take us right to the SOC, so we can get debriefed and cook up Ken's trace program," Matt said to the group.  
  
"What are you going to do with me after the interviews?" Rob asked. "I want to stay in the fight."  
  
"If by that question you wanted to know if you could join the SOC, the answer would have to be no. But if the S.T.A.R.S. are looking for some reinforcements, we can't stop them from recruiting you," Matt replied with a smile.  
  
"It'll take some convincing, but I could get the others to go along with it," Barry said as Robert smiled. "Welcome aboard." The last few minutes of the flight were silent except for the noise from the plane's engines, until they finally touched down. The plane slowed down until it finally stopped, and the rear doors opened. The SOC commandos, Barry and Robert grabbed their equipment and got off as soon as they could, running for the helicopter waiting to take them to the SOC headquarters. They climbed on, and the pilot wasted no time in taking off. They flew in a northwestern direction before beginning to descend.  
  
"This is it?" Barry asked as he looked down. All he saw was an abandoned farmhouse, and several acres of grass.  
  
"Yep. Home sweet home," Mark replied as the helicopter landed. They jumped out, and the helicopter took off again heading back towards the airport. Matt began walking over to the building as the others followed him over. He slid open the door, and walked to the far wall. He slid a fake panel up, and revealed a keypad set into the wall. He stood in front of it to block the others from seeing the combination, and typed it into the pad. The wall slid up to reveal a bank of elevators. The doors of the first three opened, as Matt stepped into one. The others filed into the elevators, as the doors closed. Barry saw that there were no buttons on the inside, but that they automatically began to descend.  
  
"So your whole operation is underground," Barry said comprehending the appearance of the abandoned farmhouse. The elevators slowed and finally stopped as the doors opened. They were greeted with a metallic gray hallway, leading to another bank of elevators at the end. Barry noticed that the hallway was bottlenecked, making it easily defendable against an outside attacker. There was no cover whatsoever in the hallway itself, while the area outside of the elevator had corners someone could duck behind to avoid incoming fire. They walked into the elevators again, and this time Matt took out a plastic card, and swiped it through a reader on the wall. The doors closed, and they descended again, this time after Matt pushed a button for the third of five floors.  
  
"We'll be stopping at a briefing room first, to find out what exactly our next move is," Matt said as the doors opened. He stepped out into another bottlenecked corridor like the one above. The others formed up behind him as they reached a heavy steel blast door that had been lowered in front of them. Matt pulled out his card and opened a panel in the right side wall of the corridor. He slid the card through the reader causing the blast door to begin to rise. On the opposite side of the door Barry saw several similarly-clad commandos armed with a variety of heavy weapons.  
  
"Security's been increased I see," Matt said nodding at the others in front of them. They lowered their weapons after confirming that the eleven arrivals were friendlies.  
  
"Welcome back Colonel," one of them said as Matt nodded.  
  
"Good to be home," he replied. "Is the Assistant Director in?"  
  
"He's in briefing room three waiting for you Colonel," the security team leader said as Matt thanked him.  
  
"Colonel?" Barry whispered.  
  
"Yeah. Officially I'm listed as an Army Rangers Colonel," Matt said.  
  
"Okay, we're going down the hall and to the left," Matt said as he began walking down the hall past the security team. Barry saw numerous armored security stations down the hall, along with mounts for heavy weapons. They finally exited the corridor into what Barry guessed was the command center. It was buzzing with activity; there were numerous technicians monitoring systems, analysts going over intelligence, and various people communicating with field teams on missions.  
  
"Here we are," Matt said pushing open a door. They walked in and sat down, as Matt walked over to the Assistant Director. "We're all here sir."  
  
"Excellent," he said as Mark closed the door to the room. "I'm glad to see you all made it. Ah, you must be Mr. Burton," he said walking over to Barry. "I've been anxious to meet you."  
  
"Thank you," Barry said as the Assistant Director offered his hand. Barry took it after hesitating slightly, and then sat down. "And who are you?" he said looking to Robert, who was still in his Umbrella uniform.  
  
"My name's Robert. I was formerly known as Agent Hunk with Umbrella's special forces unit," he replied as the director nodded.  
  
"We've heard about them and you as a matter of fact. You're supposed to be their best soldier."  
  
"I was their best," he replied with a solemn look. "I'm through with doing their dirty work."  
  
"Well that's the best news I've heard all day," the director said as he sat down in a chair at the front of the room.  
  
"What do you mean by that sir?" Mark asked.  
  
"You don't have to do that whole sir thing with me in here. We're not the military here."  
  
"What's wrong Ian?" Matt asked following up his friends question.  
  
"It concerns all of you in fact. Earlier this morning I received a letter from the Director and cosigned by the Deputy Director for Operations. We've been ordered to stand down," Ian said as Matt grimaced, and then nodded.  
  
"I was expecting something along these lines," he replied. "Umbrella has too much pull at the top to let me believe we were going to run this operation unhindered."  
  
"I wish I could say you were wrong, but the truth of the matter is that we've been called off the case. Officially, we're through with Umbrella."  
  
"And unofficially?" Greg asked following where Ian was leading them.  
  
"Well, let's just say that we have a little bit of pull as well. When the SOC was created, a few important people feared that just this sort of event may occur. That's why information about our existence was so limited. No one expected this sort of thing to happen so soon after our founding though," Ian replied with a slight smile. "Basically, we have the power, through the DOD (Department of Defense) to become a full-fledged special operations military organization. Since our status is top-secret, that would mean we report to the Joint Chiefs, the Secretary, and the President alone. Once we invoke that we're golden, in other words."  
  
"I love a good contingency plan," Matt said with a smile. "Umbrella can't touch us without screwing with the top military leadership in the country. Those are not the people you want to go around and mess with."  
  
"Umbrella's top leaders haven't always been perfectly stable. They may try anything to take you out," Robert said as Barry nodded.  
  
"You saw firsthand what they did to Shoreline just to take out myself and all of you. We can't take them lightly."  
  
"You're right, of course," Ian said with a slow nod. "In case our current location is discovered, we've already begun evacuating personnel to the Alpha Site. We'll be ready for them if they come for us."  
  
"Let's hope it doesn't come to that. Now I wanted to talk to you about an electronic warfare facility Umbrella has somewhere on the East Coast, and how we're going to take it out," Matt said.  
  
"My advice would be to find it and just bomb it," Sam said as Dan nodded.  
  
"We can't do that, unfortunately. We need to see what types of traffic they're receiving, and anyone that they're monitoring. We might be able to turn the information in that facility against Umbrella," Matt replied.  
  
"We can decide how to take it out later. Right now, I want to here your plan Mr. Ryan," Ian said as Matt stood up. He began to pace the room as he presented his plan.  
  
"Basically, I want to lure one of their hackers into a dummy server and jump him," Matt said with a smile. "We'll have Kenny here rig up a trace program to find the location of the base, and scramble a ground team to nail them."  
  
"How are you going to get the trace back to their facility without tipping them off?" Ian asked as Matt smiled.  
  
"Well, why not use a Trojan horse? If you can do it Ken," Matt said looking at him, "Can you disguise your trace as a transmission from Umbrella's main office?"  
  
"You bet I can," he replied with a smirk. "I can dance circles around those dirt bags."  
  
"Now that's what I want to here," Ian said with a small laugh. "It seems like you've got that aspect of the operation planned fairly well. What teams are you going to want in on the operation?"  
  
"I'm going, so Team 1 will be in. I'm going to need Ken in case they set up some kind of electronic defenses for their files, so Team 3 is in. Resistance wise, it's probably going to be light so Team 2 can come to give Zack some more experience in the field. The facility is pretty big, so if Teams 4, 5 and 6 are available they'd be welcome additions to provide some cover fire and to help secure the facility," Matt said as Ian nodded his approval.  
  
"Done," he said with a smile. "There'll be two companies of Marines ready to finish cleaning up the facility once you've gotten the information we need. Ken, if you wouldn't mind starting your work on that trace program, I'll dismiss the rest of you. Take a day or two off, please. After what I've heard about Shoreline, you all sound like you need the rest. Mr. Burton, we'd like to interview you and Robert further about Umbrella if you don't mind."  
  
"That would be fine. I already talked to Matt about finding the remaining S.T.A.R.S. members willing to fight Umbrella and getting you a copy of the information," Barry replied. "I'll need a few days to find them though."  
  
"I'll be happy to tell you anything you need to know about them," Robert said with a smile. "And I've got a present for you," he added pulling out the vial of T-virus.  
  
"We'll get that to the lab immediately Robert. Thank you for securing this gift for us. Mr. Burton, we can't force you to stay. We'll send someone to rendezvous with you on the 21st. Would it be possible for you to be in Baltimore or D.C. by that date?" Ian asked.  
  
"I'll do my best to be there. I might be a few days late though. I don't want to tell you where the others are; obviously I'm not willing to take chances with their safety. If I'm not there by the 21st could you have someone meet me on the 25th?" Barry asked as Ian nodded.  
  
"We'll have someone there every day if we have to," Matt said. "We won't leave you hanging."  
  
"Thanks. I'll talk to your people now," Barry said to Ian as he stood up. The others waited until Ian, Robert and Barry had left before standing as well.  
  
"Why doesn't he want us to know where the remaining S.T.A.R.S. against Umbrella are?" Mark asked. "Doesn't he trust us after we saved his life?"  
  
"It's probably for the same reason we were reluctant to take him here," Matt said. "He doesn't know us, and if one of us gets captured and tells Umbrella where the S.T.A.R.S. it's game over. We can't take the risk."  
  
"Still, it'd be nice to know that we've got allies out there," Adam said.  
  
"We do have allies. They're fighting Umbrella just like we are. We've got some time off, so I don't want to see you guys back here until I get back. Go on; enjoy yourselves for a few days. You'll get a call when we need you back," Matt replied as a few of the others smiled.  
  
"I'm gonna go set up that trace program now so I can get some free time," Ken said as he began walking towards the computer lab.  
  
"Good luck bud," Matt said. "We'll see you in a few days."  
  
"Take care of yourselves," Greg said as he left. "Make sure you don't get injured; I don't feel like training a replacement."  
  
"Oh boy, that really makes me feel like enjoying my time off," Dan said as everyone had a laugh.  
  
"I'd really miss my medic if I accidentally broke his wrist," Greg said as he jokingly punched Dan in the shoulder.  
  
"Okay guys, enough. Save it for when you get back," Matt said breaking up the "fight". "Mark, Paul, wait up a minute."  
  
"What do you need boss?" Mark asked after everyone else left.  
  
"You remember Silano's Pizza in Baltimore, right? Meet me there tomorrow afternoon, around 3:00 if you don't have anything else going on," Matt said as they both smiled.  
  
"As long as you're buying," Mark said. "It's your turn anyways."  
  
"What do you mean my turn? I've bought the last three times we've done anything," Matt replied.  
  
"Well since they pay you so much more, you can afford the hit," Paul said with a laugh.  
  
"Yeah, I'm so well paid. Very funny Paul," Matt replied. "Just for that, how about I let you buy this time?"  
  
"No, that's okay Matt. We'll see you tomorrow afternoon," Paul replied with a smirk as he and Mark walked out the door.  
  
'At least I'll have a few days to talk to Melissa,' Matt thought as he walked outside the briefing room. His gear had already been secured in his team's lockers, and his combat suit had been stowed on the plane from Colorado. He walked down the hallway to the elevator, and ran his keycard through its reader. He entered it and pushed the button to ride it up to the first floor. He got out, and walked down the hallway until he came to a set of stairs. He walked up the staircase for several flights, until he came to a door. He pushed it open, and walked into the SOC vehicle bay.  
  
"At least this time they didn't spray paint it," Matt said to himself as he strode over to his truck, a jet black Ford F150 pickup. He opened the door and climbed in, putting his key in the ignition. The engine roared to life as he put the car into drive and drove until he reached a security gate.  
  
"Get some leave Colonel?" the guard, a member of Team 16 asked.  
  
"Yeah. I'm going to Baltimore for a few days to blow off some steam," Matt replied as the guard raised the gate.  
  
"Have a good time, sir," he replied as Matt smiled.  
  
"Take care of yourself Gary," he replied as he drove up the ramp leading back to the surface. While the entire SOC facility had been constructed underground, the higher-ups realized that they would need some sort of access to the surface in case they needed a quick getaway. The base had been constructed within a quarter mile of a dirt road, which led to a major highway. Matt came out on the surface to see that the sun that was out earlier had been replaced by clouds and a light drizzle.  
  
"This just in," Matt heard over the radio as he reached the surface. He had forgotten that he had left it on. It hadn't been able to receive any signals while he was underground, but now that he was on the surface, it was full functional. "We have received reports of an accidental detonation of two nuclear warheads in the city of Shoreline, Washington. There have been reports of a handful of survivors, and also several military helicopters in the area before the detonation. Pentagon officials have declined to comment on the possibility that the incident may have been a terrorist attack. A press conference has been scheduled for," Matt heard before shutting off the radio. He was in no mood to hear about the demise of Shoreline, since all it did was remind him what Umbrella was capable of.  
  
'I'd better call Melissa soon,' he thought as he remembered that he had told her he would be in Seattle. 'She's probably worried sick about me.' He reached the highway, and pulled off the road to stop at a gas station. Matt had realized that he hadn't eaten anything for almost 24 hours, and that the truck was running on fumes.  
  
"I just can't believe what happened. Those poor people," one of the people at the gas station said as she put the nozzle to the gas pump in her car.  
  
"Isn't it sad?" the person at the next pump asked as Matt opened up the cover to the gas tank. He put the nozzle in, and leaned back against the side of the truck. The nightmares from the previous night were coming back, and it wasn't a pleasant experience.  
  
"What do you think?" Matt looked up as he realized the question was addressed to him.  
  
"About what?" he asked, knowing the answer to the question.  
  
"The people in Shoreline. There was a nuclear accident there late last night," the woman said, thinking that he hadn't caught the news story.  
  
'If only you knew,' he thought, knowing that he couldn't tell them the truth. "Did anyone make it out alive?" he asked instead.  
  
"No one knows. There were rumors that the military had helicopters in the area before it was destroyed. They may've been able to get a few people out. Then again, you never know. They may have been responsible for the accident. Or maybe it was the CIA," the man at the next pump said as the woman looked on with interest.  
  
"What do you mean the CIA?" she asked.  
  
"I heard that they were doing some sort of experiment in the city, and it got out of control I wouldn't be surprised; it's not the first time the government's tested weapons on us," the man said as Matt resisted the urge to rip his throat out. The visions of death came back again as his tank finally filled. He put the nozzle back, and walked as quickly as he could for the door to the station. He picked out a few packs of donuts and a bottle of Coke before walking to the clerk. He handed over two twenties, got his change, and walked right over to his truck. The two people, conspiracy theorists he decided subconsciously, were still arguing about what really happened.  
  
"It couldn't have been the CIA. My nephew works there, and he called the morning asking about what happened. They didn't know anything," the woman said as the man snorted.  
  
"They wouldn't tell their employees anything. In fact, if they were guilty, the first thing they would do would be to deny it. How do you get an accident with a nuclear device, anyway?" he retorted. "Hey you, who do you think was responsible?" he asked Matt. Both of them turned to look at him as he stood there with the door to his truck open. He pondered his answer for several seconds before coming up with his answer.  
  
"Honestly? My money's not on the government," he replied. "And I'm not wrong very often."  
  
"Whatever you say," the man replied as he went back to arguing with the lady behind him. Matt got back into the truck and pulled out of the gas station, trying to put the conversation and the memories out of his thoughts. He barely even registered getting back onto the highway, and heading east until he reached the outskirts of Baltimore. He snapped out of his daze just in time to realize that he was in the suburbs, and had almost reached his house.  
  
'Pull yourself together Matt,' he thought. 'You're almost home.' He made a right at the second intersection he came to after returning to full alertness, and pulled in to his driveway. His house was two stories tall, and a decent size for the suburbs. He got out and pulled out his house key before the door swung open.  
  
"Welcome back," a woman said stepping outside. She walked over to Matt, and gave him a hug.  
  
"It's good to be home. I've missed you Mel," Matt said returning the embrace.  
  
"I was worried about you after what happened in Shoreline. That was you, wasn't it?" she asked with worry in her voice.  
  
"Yeah, we were there. I've got a lot to talk to you about," he replied.  
  
"I haven't been to the plant since you called," Melissa said. "Now do you mind telling me why it was so important for me to call in sick?"  
  
"Let's go inside first," Matt replied as he opened the door and held it for her. They both walked in, and Matt sat down on the couch in his living room. Once they were both seated, he put his head in his hands and began to sob.  
  
"What happened up there?" Melissa asked. "You've been acting strangely ever since you got here."  
  
"Let me tell you what really happened in Shoreline, and what happened in Afghanistan before that. It's a long story so I'd suggest you get comfortable," Matt said as he lifted his head up and settled back onto the couch.  
  
"I've got some coffee that's just about done. I'll get you a cup, just hold on for a minute," Melissa replied as she stood up and walked into the kitchen. She returned a minute later with two cups, and sat down next to Matt.  
  
"Thanks," he said taking one of the cups and sipping the coffee. "You know that I was in Afghanistan less than a week ago, then in Shoreline last night. What you don't know is why." Melissa sat back and listened while Matt relayed the whole story up to that morning, including the Tyrants, Umbrella's viruses, meeting Barry and the infection and nuking of Shoreline. When he was finished, he leaned forward and began to stand up. "I think I'm going to be sick."  
  
"How could Umbrella make those viruses?" Melissa asked with a hint of anger in her voice. "All of this time they were blaming the S.T.A.R.S. and other terrorists, and they were the ones responsible for everything. I can't believe I was working for them."  
  
"Now you know why I asked you to quit," Matt said sitting back down. The wave of nausea that had overcome him passed, and he felt better after sharing the events of the last five days.  
  
"I want to help," Melissa said, causing Matt to look up in shock.  
  
"What?" he asked, as if not understanding what she had just said.  
  
"I want to help you take Umbrella down. I could be your source from inside the company, and give you information about them. I can't just sit by and let them make weapons and use them on innocent people."  
  
"No," Matt replied. "It's too dangerous. They'll kill you if they find out you're helping us. I can't lose you."  
  
"And do you think it's any easier for me knowing you're out there risking your life? This is something I've made up my mind about; I'm going to help you whether you want me to or not. You aren't going to change my mind."  
  
"Okay, you win. If you're going to do this though, I want to take you to the SOC so you can be briefed in, and get you some weapons training. If you're going to be working with Umbrella's freaks, it very well may come in handy. Just try and be careful," Matt said as Melissa nodded.  
  
"Don't worry about me. I'll have the easy job; I just have to tell you what's going on. You'll be the one out there risking your life."  
  
"Things have a funny way of turning out ironically in situations like this. I want you to look out for your own safety first, and to get out of there the minute you think you're in danger."  
  
"I'm glad we were able to talk about this. Now how about we go out and do something?" Melissa asked. "All of this talking about Umbrella's really ruining the day."  
  
"No problem. Come on, I'll take you to the mall so we can look at some stuff for the wedding," Matt said getting his keys out. "It'll be a nice change of scenery."  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
CIA Special Operations Command Headquarters  
Location: Unknown  
February 16, 2001 4:00 PM  
  
"Be careful with that vial; it's loaded with enough bio-junk to kill everyone in here," a figure in a hazmat suit said as he looked over the shoulder of another similarly-dressed person.  
  
"Believe me; I'm not taking any chances with this stuff. Now let's see what makes these little buggers tick," the second person said as he placed a small sample of the T-virus on a slide. He slid the sample under the lens of an electron microscope, and peered at the sample through the monitor.  
  
"Something's wrong," the first one said. "Look at the complete lack of activity in the virus molecules. There's absolutely nothing happening."  
  
"Let's have the computer analyze this and see what we get," the second figure said removing the sample from the microscope and putting it into a reader hooked up to a supercomputer.  
  
"Okay, it's scanning the virus. Let's see, two anomalous materials?" the second one asked to himself. "The computer is picking up the remains of some form of capsule as well. The two materials seem to be neutralizing each other. They screwed us over; we've got absolutely nothing here."  
  
"That's where you're wrong," the first one said. "They've given us something even better than a live virus. We've got our hands on a live anti- virus. Get this sample frozen quick, and start the team to work trying to synthesize it. This may yet turn out to be our best weapon against Umbrella; physically instead of legally though." Both figures walked to the entrance of the clean room where the exteriors of their suits were decontaminated; then the removed the suits and walked over to several people who were looking on into the room.  
  
"Do you honestly think we can synthesize an anti-virus from this sample?" Ian asked as they smiled.  
  
"Sir, I know we can. What I think is that Umbrella just shot themselves in the foot by neutralizing that vial. Instead of giving us a live sample of the virus which we could only use legally, they gave us the friggin' live anti-virus, which we can use legally and to counter any infections they create. I can't believe how dumb they are," the first one said as he choked back a laugh.  
  
"Well get on it then. We're going to make this the first nail in their coffin," Ian said shaking both their hands. "It's the beginning of the end for Umbrella. Get a sample of this to the Alpha Site right now."  
  
Author's Thoughts: Well, that's another chapter down in this baby! I absolutely love the way the story is coming along, and at its current length has surpassed anything I've written before. I have a few more thoughts that I neglected to mention at the beginning of this chapter. For one, this chapter's musical inspiration (as well as the previous ones) came from a mixture of Chop Suey, Weird Al, the Command & Conquer: Red Alert 2 soundtrack, and a bunch of others.  
  
In addition, I'd like to again thank all of my reviewers thus far (and everyone who's going to review in the future). You've been making this adventure possible so far, and I really appreciate it. This has been fun for me (I love to write). Anyways, keep those reviews (and CHARACTERS) coming. Enough of my talking, now for everyone's favorite part of my commentary; COMING ATTRACTIONS!  
  
Next chapter: The action takes a break as I do something you'll all probably thank me for. Yes dear fans, next chapter will be a complete background of all major characters to this point. Even I'm a little confused about all of them, so I'm going to clarify backgrounds for all of my characters, and post the bios for the three characters I've received.  
  
After the break: Matt & Melissa take some time together before getting dragged back into the fray. The SOC prepares to begin its offensive against Umbrella as the stops are pulled out. They also begin working towards developing an anti-virus of their own to Umbrella's bugs. But will Umbrella's EW facility locate the SOC headquarters? Tune in to Chapter 7- Hide and Seek. 


	6. Who Are You?

Disclaimer: Resident Evil is owned by Capcom. All user-submitted characters are owned by their creators. Everything that I come up with to enhance this story is owned by me. Everything else is owned by its respective owners.  
  
Author's Notes: Well, this chapter is going to take a break from the action and will help to give my characters (and the user-submitted characters) some background information. It'll help to explain the personalities of them, and it'll be a lot less confusing to me if I write down the names of everyone that I've used so far. Well, enough of my pointless informative babbling, it's time to get down to business.  
  
Oh yeah, by the way this chapter is dedicated to being able to read and write. Hooked on Phonics worked for me! And remember to stick around after the credits! You never know what you might find.  
  
Pierre Dupree and Zander Scotts were submitted by Ashley (Sporty-Girl), Gregory Tomlin is owned by KJ, and Kenny Bailey is owned by William. All of the others are owned by me!  
  
Operation Falling S.T.A.R.S.  
  
Chapter Six: Who Are You?  
  
The Central Intelligence Agency Special Operations Command  
  
The CIA Special Operations Command (hereafter abbreviated SOC) was founded in late December of the year 2000. The main purpose of the organization was to help train future field agents for the CIA, after the War on Terror began. The war showed the importance of having field agents trained in combat; therefore the SOC was born. Currently the SOC is operated under Assistant Director Ian Williams, who reports directly to the Deputy Director of Operations and the Director of the CIA. Even though the SOC's mission statement is to train field agents, it is (for the time being) actually an elite-level commando unit which the CIA can use to carry out missions to dangerous for the other branches of the armed forces. When small, highly skilled units are called for, the SOC will be ready to respond.  
  
There are currently 120 "troops" in the SOC, operating in 40 3-man teams. There are 10 Teams to a group, and each group comes up for security duty once every two years. At any one time, there are 30 teams ready for field action, with the remainder assigned to a rotating security detail. The teams rotate biannually unless a team urgently needs to be removed from action. Vacation time is given when available, but none of the personnel who are serving expect any less. All of them have been chosen from the finest the U.S. military, police, Coast Guard, and civilian industry can offer. In addition, a wide range of support personnel are recruited in order to give the teams the highest possible chance for success. In its short history, the SOC has not had a failed mission, and proudly boasts of its record in high-ranking military circles. This has created a few enemies to the SOC in Washington politics; many of whom would be quite content to see the SOC fail and lose a fair portion of its prestige. Whether one of these people would resort to treason or another crime to hurt the SOC remains to be seen.  
  
Currently, the SOC gains its funding from numerous sources; including raiding foreign assets. The SOC gets a regular portion of the CIA's budget as well as money from the Department of Defense, usually in return for carrying out operations or testing out new equipment that may enter the U.S. military's future arsenal. In addition, the SOC has the authority to seize foreign assets if it has been determined they are used either for terrorism, or another illegal practice. Several drug lords have had their assets tapped to their great surprise, usually after an SOC hacker discovers the dirty money.  
  
While some have questioned the need for such an organization, there are few in Washington (who know about the SOC) who are willing to argue that it is unsuccessful. The SOC has even signed an exclusive agreement with DefTek industries to supply almost all of their field equipment; from the combat suits to body armor and ammunition, DefTek is favored by almost all members of the SOC. In return for supplying equipment at below- wholesale prices, DefTek has received several contracts from the U.S. military. It is suspected that most of those orders originated after a few choice words about the quality of DefTek's equipment from the SOC. This has given the SOC a reputation for being a "proving ground" of sorts for any new technology or weapon systems that are planned to be implemented in the near future.  
  
If the United States is the Arsenal of Democracy, the SOC is definitely the secret weapon. With the ability to strike worldwide with an elite heavily-armed infantry unit in a matter of hours, the SOC is a force to be reckoned with. Needless to say, enemies of this organization at home and abroad soon realize the follies of their ways. Often, they do not live to make the same mistake again.  
  
Ian Williams  
  
Name: Ian Williams  
  
Rank: Assistant Director for Special Operations  
  
Age: 51  
  
Height: 5' 10 3/8"  
  
Weight: 178 pounds  
  
Hair & Eye Color: Brown hair graying on the sides, light blue eyes  
  
Background: Ian Williams was born on July 17, 1949. Before being appointed by President Clinton to head the SOC, he was enjoying an early retirement after serving in the military for twenty years. Approaching his 52nd birthday, Williams is still a force to be reckoned with, physically and mentally, as well as in Washington politics. If there is something he wants done, he won't stop until he gets it, and will use every resource at his disposal to obtain his objective. He began his military career at age 18, signing up with the Army to fight in the jungles of Vietnam. Surviving the war, he declined a discharge in favor of staying in the military, entering the field of Special Forces. He saw action in Grenada, Afghanistan (coordinating with Afghani rebels fighting the invasion conducted by the Soviet Union), and was on the ground in Iraq coordinating with the Air Force in the search for SCUD missile launchers. After the war, Williams was offered an early retirement package, which he reluctantly took. When his country needed him again however after the formation of the SOC, he was more than ready to answer the call to duty. In fact, several Washington insiders have predicted that he's on the fast track to being appointed Director of the CIA, or perhaps an even higher position in the government.  
  
Personality: Ian is a very fair person, and always respects the opinions of others. Having no family of his own, Ian tends to look on the members of the SOC as his sons and daughters, and will do anything to look out for their well-being. While he has occasionally been known to possess a short temper, Williams is generally very tolerating, and will do his best to maintain his cool in any situation. Nothing can compromise his loyalty to those under his command or to his country.  
  
Team 1  
  
Matthew Ryan  
  
Name: Matthew (Matt) Ryan  
  
Age: 28  
  
Sex: Male  
  
Height: 6'0"  
  
Weight: 195 lbs.  
  
Occupation: Instructor/Operative CIA Special Ops Command, Heavy Weapons specialist, Team 1 Commander  
  
Education: 4 years of college, majoring in political science with a minor in international law. Ryan finished in the top 6% of his class, and was approached by the military upon graduation because of his high scores on the ASVAB test system.  
  
Bio: After completing basic training, Ryan was selected for training at West Point. He graduated with honors, and proceeded to Army Ranger School, earning his status as a Ranger in his first attempt. Feeling that he wasn't doing enough to serve his country, Ryan began to collect rumors about a special branch of the CIA created during the war in Afghanistan. The purpose of the unit was to train special field operatives in the art of single operative warfare. This was in order to prevent another disaster like the one that occurred during a prison uprising where a CIA agent was killed. The new program would eventually lead to a new generation of battle-ready field agents, which appealed greatly to Ryan. He finally made enough connections in the brass to agitate for a transfer to the unit, and was accepted. After training, Ryan was assigned to several high profile incidents in the Middle East; most of which remain classified to this day.  
  
Operational Background:  
  
CIA Special Operations Command  
  
Operation Phoenix Horizon: 2004. Location: Classified  
  
Operation Shattered Dreams: 2003. Location: Classified  
  
Operation Falling S.T.A.R.S: 2001-2003. Locations: Classified  
  
Army Rangers  
  
Operation Final Justice: 2000-2001 Locations: Pakistan, Afghanistan (Also SOC)  
  
Operation End Run: 2000 Locations: Columbia, Argentina, Bolivia, and Mexico  
  
Personality: Extremely loyal, with a fierce sense of right and wrong, Ryan is definitely the person anyone would want covering their backs. Combined with his operational experiences, he has been compared to a one-man army, proving the success of the CIA Spec. Ops Program many times over. He is courageous and very patient, both of which have allowed him to survive missions that would have ended with the deaths of lesser operatives many times over.  
  
Mark Klein  
  
Name: Mark Klein  
  
Rank: Operative, Team 1 Marksman, Team 1 Medic  
  
Age: 26  
  
Height: 6' 2"  
  
Weight: 186 pounds  
  
Hair & Eye Color: Brown hair, blue eyes  
  
Background: Mark has had an emotional roller coaster ride in the past year. He has gone through the shock of learning that his sister-in-law survived the destruction of Raccoon City (while the fate of his brother is unknown), and that Umbrella was responsible for its loss. Even with his recent troubles, Mark is one of the best troops the SOC has to offer. Mark was the third person to be recruited to the SOC after Matt Ryan and Sam Johnston. He was a fast-rising member of the Army Rangers before his recruitment, and served in the same squad that Matt Ryan did. It was only natural that they would be placed on the same team, since they had worked together before.  
  
Before joining the SOC, Mark had the rank of Gunnery Sergeant in the Army Rangers, and was viewed as a very effective soldier in battle. He never left comrades behind, nor objectives unattained. This led to him being a shoe-in for a posting at the SOC, which he accepted almost immediately. He currently resides in Southern Maryland, and is taking classes in International Law whenever he gets the chance. His personal life has been a bit of a mess, due to his past emotional traumas, but he has been steadily recovering. It is unknown at this time whether ongoing operations against Umbrella will cause a relapse, but such an occurrence (barring some unforeseen catastrophic event), is seen as unlikely.  
  
Personality: The emotional damage that has been dealt to Mark since the destruction of Raccoon City has caused him to develop a mainly sarcastic personality. He will joke occasionally, but is mostly concerned with getting the mission accomplished. Once in a great while he will open up, to reveal a person who has been scarred repeatedly, yet has bounced back from all of the obstacles life has thrown at him with a zeal rarely seen.  
  
Paul Edwards  
  
Name: Paul Edwards  
  
Rank: Operative, Team 1 Scout  
  
Age: 25  
  
Height: 5' 11"  
  
Weight: 192 pounds  
  
Background: Like fellow teammate Mark Klein, Paul has felt the effects of the destruction of Raccoon City. His brother was in the city at the time of its destruction, and was one of the tens of thousands confirmed dead after the detonation of a nuclear device over the city. After the revelation of Umbrella's responsibility for the city's destruction, Paul has dedicated himself to the corporation's destruction. Along with the rest of Team 1, he will stop at nothing to see Umbrella dismantled one facility at a time.  
  
Before joining the SOC, Edwards was a successful U.S. Marine and was recruited into Force Recon. He attained the rank of Sergeant Major before being approached by the SOC concerning a job opportunity. He accepted, and was assigned to Team 1 to round out the unit's roster. He earned a bachelor's degree in Physics before joining the Marines, and continues taking classes towards a master's degree in the field. Like Klein, he is single, but currently "looking" for someone,  
  
Personality: Even though he comes off as a joker, his antics hide the mind of a scientist and hide his true intelligence. He acts up in the field as his own way of dealing with the pain of the loss of his brother, and to help his teammates be more comfortable in the field. Occasionally he opens up, and reveals an inner intensity that is rivaled only by a handful of SOC field operatives. Given enough time to deal with his loss, it is expected that Edwards will settle down and lose the joking aspect entirely.  
  
Team 2  
  
Sam Johnston  
  
Name: Sam Johnston  
  
Rank: Operative, Commander of SOC Team 2. Marksman for Team 2  
  
Age: 26  
  
Height: 6' 4"  
  
Weight: 211 pounds  
  
Hair & Eye Color: Black hair with sideburns extending midway down, hazel eyes  
  
Background: Sam Johnston was recruited to the SOC in early January 2001, shortly after the organization's founding. He was one of the first soldiers that AD Williams asked to join the organization, and was given command of Team 2. His teammates are Adam Jennings and Zander Scotts. Before joining the SOC, Sam was in the Delta Force, and was an accomplished sniper. His leadership skills were what captured the attention of the SOC, and the rest, as they say, is history. After joining, Sam and his team have seen action in Nicaragua, the Philippines (along with Team 3), and Sudan. All of his previous missions have been successful, and Sam has earned a reputation of being able to pull of challenging missions without a hitch. Before joining the SOC and Delta, Sam was a successful Captain in the Army.  
  
In his pre-military life, Johnston graduated from Boston College with a degree in International Relations. He currently resides in Northern Virginia, and is married to Sarah, whom he met in his senior year of High School. He has followed the trend set by most of the other married members of the SOC, and confides regularly in his spouse. Such practice has been questioned in the past, but having someone to talk to has helped to relieve some of the stress the commandos have to put up with.  
  
Personality: Sam is fanatically loyal to his team members, and won't ask them to do anything that he himself wouldn't. He counts his teammates among his best friends, and always looks out for them on a mission. He has enough experience in the field to know to show his superiors respect, even if their interests are in conflict with his own (as in the incident with Tom Walker's secret loyalties to Umbrella). He has been known to take actions to safeguard his team when events similar to the Walker incident occurred no matter what the cost to him personally might be.  
  
Adam Jennings  
  
Name: Adam Jennings  
  
Rank: Operative, Team 2 Medic  
  
Age: 27  
  
Height: 5' 11"  
  
Weight: 188 pounds  
  
Hair & Eye Color: Red hair cut short, gray eyes  
  
Background: Adam was recruited into the SOC when it was first created, and was originally slated to be Team 2's leader. However, Sam Johnston was recruited and rather than create another team for him to lead, he was given command over Team 2. This has suited Adam, as the pressure of command has been removed from his shoulders. Even though he has shown exceptional leadership potential in the past, there is nothing Adam would rather avoid than being in a command-level position. The thought of making a mistake and costing himself and his squad their lives has hampered his assent in the SOC unless a new team leader is urgently needed. Still, he is satisfied with his position, and wouldn't give it up for anything in the world.  
  
In his pre-SOC days, Adam was a Sergeant in the Army, and had distinguished himself with several medals while he was overseas. He saw action in Somalia helping to escort U.N. food convoys, but luckily wasn't caught in Mogadishu after a failed operation to capture local warlords. In the aftermath, his unit was withdrawn from the region even though they were more than willing to keep fighting to help the refugees. He has seen action in Bosnia helping to capture Serbian war criminals, and helped to train soldiers in Columbia to operate against the drug lords.  
  
Adam currently resides in Northern Virginia, and is taking classes in International Business for a degree. He is currently single (despite claims to have "found someone"), and among the best the SOC has to offer. Whether he is deployed to the Far East (serving alongside Team 3 to train Philippine soldiers), or Western Europe (helping MI-6 locate terrorists wanted for an attempted bioweapons attack), he is comfortable in any locale. This has earned him the nickname of "Chameleon," stemming from his ability to blend in with hostile (or not so hostile) populations.  
  
Personality: Adam is slightly sarcastic, and has served as the team's comic relief in the past. Having been a sergeant in his previous life in the Army, Adam enjoys dressing down new recruits. His new pastime has been training Zander Scotts in the SOC's ways, and helping to get him ready for field deployment. Like all of the other members of the SOC, Adam is loyal to his teammates and enjoys working with other teams.  
  
Zander Scotts  
  
Name: Zander Scotts  
  
Rank: Operative, Team 2 Scout, Team 2 CQB expert  
  
Height: 6'2  
  
Weight: 192 lbs.  
  
Age: 23  
  
Hair color: Light Blonde  
  
Eye color: Green  
  
Bio: Directly out of high school Zander entered the military. He did extremely well in all of his testing including getting in the top ten percent of his class in the ASVAB and AFQT tests. He was regarded as one of the up and coming young soldiers and was sent to the Army Rangers. There he not only worked his way up the ranks in remarkable time, but he also showed a lot of promise in working on military strategies. He specialized in Close Quarters Battle (CQB), and his marksmanship was second to none. Not long after he entered the Rangers he was approached by a gentleman to see if he would be interested joining an elite branch of the government, the SOC, and he readily agreed. Although he is a rookie in the SOC he is yet to make his first "rookie mistake."  
  
Personality: More of a follower than a leader, Zander is great at getting whatever needs to happen done. He has a fierce sense of right and wrong and is more loyal than a dog. He'll never give up on his team, and will gladly risk his life to save on of his teammates. His team's safety in his eyes ranks higher than that of the mission, even though he is trained to finish the mission at any costs.  
  
Weapons specialty: Works well with heavy handguns, especially Magnum- class weapons.  
  
Character flaws: Zander is over trusting and stubborn.  
  
Relations to characters: He sees all the men as his superiors although they work at the same rank. Zander feels that he could learn a lot from the men and doesn't ask questions about why when they ask him to do something.  
  
Team 3  
  
Gregory Tomlin  
  
Name: Gregory Tomlin  
  
Rank: Sergeant (Marines), Operative, Commander of SOC Team 3, Demolitions Expert  
  
Height: 5ft 10in  
  
Weight: 187pounds  
  
Hair: Short, black  
  
Eye Color: Auburn  
  
Age: 28  
  
Ethnicity: Oriental/Specifically South Korean  
  
History: Gregory Tomlin is a South Korean adoptee to United States. He was adopted by Susan & Jason Tomlin from a South Korean orphanage at age of 2. He grew up in Virginia, but moved to New Jersey at age of 13. He wanted to study law at Yale. However, when he did not make it into the college, he joined up with the Marines instead. Worked in the Marine Force Recon for 3 years before moving into Marine special force unit at SOCOM. He worked with them for another 3 years before being offered into paramilitary service and joining. Saw action in mostly Philippines where he was deployed to observe the Philippines Army in their operation against terrorists.  
  
Position: Team explosive ordinance expert, Team Leader  
  
Primary Weapon: C4 block and fragmentation grenades, but USAS-12 shotgun or P-90 submachine gun in assault operations  
  
Secondary Weapon: Works well with standard Mk23, but prefers Scorpion automatic handgun personally.  
  
Other: Well-versed in hand-to-hand combat, especially in knife- fighting situations.  
  
Personality: Growing up as an adoptee, especially as an Asian in a mostly white community, Gregory is rather introverted character. Not humorless or cold, just does not engage in needless conversations. Usually reserved and very independent of others. Just sitting back and watching type of character.  
  
He is very composed and calm even in heated situations, and can be relied on to get his ob done with minimal fuss. However, his willingness to do things his own way without others help can become troublesome is cooperative operations. He does know his limitations, however and can be painfully honest when asked about his opinions on a matter. Hobbies include reading and interest in world politic matters. Actually working toward a Masters Degree on Political Science on a spare time.  
  
Ability:  
  
Expert explosive expert. Mostly works with field explosive types, but has some training dealing with disarming complicated explosives. Not an excellent shooter (by his teammates standard, still a better shooter than most SpecOp troops), so he relies on fire-power oriented weapons. USAS-12 is an automatic shotgun by DaeWoo precision that can fire 7 12gauge shots per second. It has either 20 round magazine or 100 round drum casing. Scorpion is fully automatic handgun. It has weak power, but works very well in close-quarter combat. Physical stamina falls behind others, but has great deal of mental concentration which allows him to keep up with others in most cases.  
  
Kenny Bailey  
  
Name: Kenny Bailey  
  
Age: 24  
  
Rank: Operative, Electronic Warfare Expert  
  
Height: 5'7"  
  
Weight: 170 lbs  
  
Hometown: Los Angeles  
  
Eyes: Green  
  
Hair: Red  
  
Personatility: Nervous, Tries hard to be in a good mood.  
  
Character flaws: regrets when shooting and killing someone, not much of a fighter.  
  
Specialty: Computer Hacking.  
  
Background: Most of Kenny's past has been involved with computers. He first became interested in them in the 7th grade, and soon became an expert with them. At some times, it seemed that the computer could be an extension of his own body. After graduating High School, he attended a police academy, and entered the ranks of the LAPD at age 21. Within a year his expertise with computers appeared again, after he helped track down and capture notorious crime lord Sancho Ortega. Ortega had been in LA looking for recruits to help his drug-running empire, which allowed the LAPD to infiltrate his organization.  
  
In part due to his role in busting Ortega, Bailey was offered one of the first positions available in the SOC. He was originally slated to join one of the ELINT (Electronic Intelligence) support teams, but after reaching the conclusion that they would need qualified electronics experts in the field, Ken was reassigned to Team 3, rounding out the team's roster. One of his objectives that carried over from his time in the LAPD is to capture the infamous "überhacker" Uziman_1, who has been responsible for several electronic attacks on the government, including strikes on the White House and Pentagon. SOC Intelligence currently believes Uziman_1 is in the employ of Umbrella, and is to be treated as a dangerous foe to the SOC.  
  
Daniel Anderson  
  
Name: Daniel Anderson  
  
Rank: Operative, Team 3 Medic, Team 3 Marksman  
  
Age: 29  
  
Height: 5' 10"  
  
Weight: 177 pounds  
  
Hair & Eye Color: Hair dusty blonde, Eyes brown  
  
Background: Dan is one of the oldest field operatives of the SOC, but that hasn't hampered his performance in any way, shape or form. He has had a long career with the military, and is the only member of Group 1 (Teams 1- 10) to have come from the Navy. He began his career in the military with the U.S. Marines, and quickly worked his way up the ranks until he reached his Captaincy. After earning the rank of Captain, Dan was approached by the U.S. Navy S.E.A.L.S. and joined the illustrious organization. At the time of his recruitment to the SOC, Dan was the Team leader for Seal Team 4 and had built quite a reputation for getting the job done.  
  
Dan has seen action in the Middle East in both Iraq and Afghanistan, and has helped the Saudi government hunt down Al Qaeda terrorists operating within its borders. He also served with Team 2 and the remainder of Team 3 helping to train the Philippine Army for operations against radical Muslim terrorists (currently believed to be a localized faction of Al Qaeda), and assisted with the attempted rescue of several tourists who were taken captive by the organization.  
  
Even though he didn't attend college before joining the SOC, he is taking night classes in English Literature, and thus far has shown exemplary grades. He resides in Baltimore, Maryland with his wife Ann and two children, Tony and John. His skills as a sniper have allowed him to obtain the position of Team Marksman, something that is prized among all of the SOC Teams.  
  
Personality: Dan has always been a pleasant person to be around. He always tries to lighten the mood with a joke or two, and his long military experience has shown him just what needs to be done to take care of the troops in the field. Dan is also loyal to his teammates, and goes out on a limb to ensure their safety. There is no one the members of Team 3 would rather have looking out for them, especially behind the scope of an M-49 .50 Caliber sniper rifle. He does get a little irritated with repetition, and one of the things he hates the most about training is shooting the same targets over and over again.  
  
Melissa Jones  
  
Name: Melissa Jones  
  
Rank: Researcher for Umbrella Inc. Baltimore research facility  
  
Age: 26  
  
Height: 5' 7"  
  
Weight: 115 pounds  
  
Background: Melissa is the daughter of Frank and Amber Jones. She is currently engaged to Matt Ryan, and is assisting the SOC gather intelligence on Umbrella's current projects. Even though her own life is at risk, she continues to assist the SOC build its case against Umbrella in order to hit them with a legal and military offensive. Her assistance has proven to be invaluable to this point, and her loss would be a huge setback to the SOC.  
  
Melissa graduated from Harvard Medical School at the top of her class, and was accepted to an internship at John Hopkins hospital. Her work on molecular biology captured the attention of Umbrella, who promptly recruited her to work in the Baltimore research facility. She worked there for almost a year before learning the truth behind her work, and discovering that she was helping Umbrella create its next generation of B.O.W.s. After learning the truth about Umbrella from Matt Ryan, she began feeding the SOC information about the corporation's ongoing projects.  
  
Personality: Melissa is a very optimistic person, and has proven her loyalty to her friends many times over. She has been a confidant for Matt Ryan since they met shortly after she began her internship, and is a very emotionally strong person. She always looks out for her friends, and won't hesitate to help someone who needs her assistance.  
  
Historical Brief: Umbrella Inc. 1998-2001  
  
The past three years have not been kind to Umbrella. The corporation has seen the loss of at least a half-dozen facilities, hundreds of personnel, millions of dollars, its president, and the secrecy surrounding its biological weapons division. While some reports have placed the start of the company's downfall at the conclusion of the Arklay Mountain incident (involving the Raccoon City S.T.A.R.S. Team), the company was already in a slide at that time. The emergence of rival HCF had caused a mass-defection of Umbrella employees, who sought higher pay and safer working conditions; something Umbrella was finally able to match with the ascension of Andrew Spencer to the presidency of the company.  
  
Even with Spencer at the top office, Umbrella's slide continued, only at a much slower pace. The reunited Raccoon S.T.A.R.S., along with a handful of allies willing to join the fight, began to attack Umbrella facilities responsible for creating both the T- and G- series of viruses, as well as creating Umbrella's living bioweapons (hereafter referred to as BioOrganic Weapons or B.O.W.s). Facing the prospect of the S.T.A.R.S. recovering sufficient evidence against the company to be used in court, Spencer began to curb the number of new facilities constructed, and concentrated more of the company's resources into developing more-advanced B.O.W.s and enhancing security at existing facilities. Umbrella also began to exhibit some of its weapons to a limited global market, although at this point it is unknown how many countries have either accepted the weapons for free trials, or actually placed orders with the company (Afghanistan, Saudi Arabia and Iran are currently suspected to be in negotiations with Umbrella).  
  
With the discovery of an Umbrella facility in Afghanistan by the SOC, Umbrella began a crash researching program, hoping to come up with a weapon system capable of deterring the elite American commando unit. While current B.O.W.s are to be considered extremely dangerous (suspected threat levels can be found by reading interviews conducted with survivors of the Spencer Mansion, Raccoon City, Rockfort Island and other incidents) (Author's Note: Play the games), any theoretical future incarnations are expected to have even higher damage potentials and fewer weaknesses/ vulnerabilities than previously encountered examples. Field teams are urged to enter any situation where the presence of B.O.W.s has either been confirmed or suspected with caution.  
  
Even while portions of the company collapse around him, Andrew Spencer can be expected to maintain a chokehold over the company. It may end up that the only way to remove the threat Umbrella posses would be the assassination of Spencer and the Umbrella board of directors. In addition, a number of high-level employees would have to be rounded up to ensure the complete cessation of all weapons research programs. If faced with an imminent loss of control of the company, Spencer may be provoked into launching a pre-emptive strike against his enemies. The exact composition of the aforementioned strike would likely include any remaining B.O.W.s available, portions of Umbrella's private army and/ or Special Forces, and most likely one or both of its viruses. Any assault on Umbrella's Paris headquarters is to be carried out only if the attacker is reasonably certain that the ensuing counter-attack can be contained and/ or prevented.  
  
Andrew Spencer  
  
Name: Andrew Spencer  
  
Rank: President of Umbrella Incorporated, honorary title of "Lord"  
  
Age: 43  
  
Height: 5' 10"  
  
Weight: 171 pounds  
  
Hair & Eye Color: Hair is light brown and graying on the sides, eyes are gray  
  
Background: Little is known about Spencer's background before his meteoric ascension to the top office of Umbrella in early 2000. Since then, he has shown himself to be a fairly effective leader despite rumors that he may in fact be insane and/ or delusional. If these rumors turn out to be true, it could theoretically be possible that Spencer is only a figurehead in the top office, and that he is being controlled by another currently unknown person (or persons). Care should be taken to remove the threat posed by these unknown persons if further action against Umbrella is taken.  
  
What is known about Spencer is that he attended the best schools money could buy. He attended Oxford in England and studied law, and Harvard in the United States to study business. From reports obtained by the SOC, we have learned that he received decent grades in his class (C and low B range), and seemed uninterested in his work. It could be theorized that he knew (possibly before college) about Umbrella's secret research because one of the essays he wrote (according to a copy recovered by the SOC) was on the topic of using genetic enhancing procedures on various products in a world economy. SOC psychiatrists have gone over the paper several times, and have come to one common conclusion. If Spencer did not know at the time what Umbrella's secret research projects were devoted to, he could surely guess at them. This would mean that he anticipated reaching the presidency of the company for over 20 years, and might make it even harder to dislodge him from the office he has dreamed about for two decades.  
  
Personality: In public, Andrew Spencer has appeared as compassionate (giving large donations to choice charities), charming and easy-going, but it is suspected that he is much different in private. We believe that only those closest to him (top aides, surviving family members, etc.) can confirm our suspicions of Spencer's mental difficulties. We believe he is paranoid over keeping his office, and may view any possible attacks against Umbrella as a direct threat to him, and respond in kind. If any kind of strike is to be conducted against Umbrella, it is currently the recommendation of this author that he be one of the first targets to be taken out.  
  
Thomas Walker  
  
Name: Thomas Walker  
  
Rank: Formerly SOC Group 1 Commander, current position in Umbrella unknown  
  
Age: 38  
  
Height: 5'8"  
  
Weight: 176 pounds  
  
Hair & Eye Color: Hair is brown, eyes are blue  
  
Background: Before his defection to Umbrella, Thomas Walker was one of the highest-ranked members of the SOC. He was the overall coordinator for the operations of 10 SOC Teams, 25% of the total number of Teams. When his betrayal was initially discovered, he was transferred to a liaison position back in the United States, but the damage had already been done. Instead of taking the position, Walker fled the country and is presumed to have resumed serving Umbrella. Analysis of his personal records after his defection showed that he and Andrew Spencer attended Harvard together, and shared many of the same classes. This may give him an unknown amount of influence with the leader of Umbrella, which could be both a blessing and a curse. While Walker may serve to mitigate Spencer's rumored insanity, he may also choose to give Spencer information he accumulated on the SOC's Teams 1-10. While SOC Intelligence believes that this transfer of information will not occur for some time, it is imperative that Walker be captured before it does occur.  
  
Walker attended Harvard University at the same time Andrew Spencer did, and shared many of the same classes as he did. He graduated with a degree in business ethics (quite ironic considering his speculated standing inside Umbrella), and formerly resided in West Virginia. He left behind his wife Rachel and son Frank, both of whom have been interviewed by the SOC, and determined to have no knowledge of Thomas' secret life. This author recommends that all efforts be made to capture Walker immediately, before irreparable damage is done to the SOC.  
  
Personality: Walker was formerly a very intelligent, very loyal member of the SOC. After his defection, we have very little reliable information to go on as to his personality. We believe that portions of his loyalty may carry over, but we believe that since he was able to deceive the SOC until just before his discovery and defection, he has developed considerable skills in the art of deception. Care should be taken in approaching him, and nothing he says should be taken at face value.  
  
Pierre Dupree (Note; all information on Pierre Dupree is speculative. All SOC personnel  
are to avoid contact with him at all costs).  
  
Name: Pierre Dupree  
  
Age: 23  
  
Gender: Male  
  
Birthplace: Paris, France  
  
Height: 6'2  
  
Weight: 196 lbs.  
  
Build: muscular  
  
Facial Appearance: light blue eyes, short blonde hair, and a scar across the bridge of his nose.  
  
Personality: tense around other people, he is not at all a people person. He prefers to be left to his own business, but will put up with people to achieve a goal. He is intelligent and loves to solve mind games or puzzles. He is also quite a sharpshooter, but doesn't necessarily need a sniper rifle. He is a remarkable marksman. Very professional and cold.  
  
Background: Pierre was abandoned when he was five years old and grew up on the streets of Paris. He was later taken in by Umbrella and trained to be a "fix up" guy, which meant that whenever someone knew too much about Umbrella he was to fix the problem. He was also trained to "clean up" a viral outbreak if one occurred. Due to this he has great knowledge and experience with Umbrella's B.O.W.s.  
  
Weapons: sterling silver combat knife, dual colt pythons, and a fully automatic shotgun.  
  
Note: This information was recovered by Kenny Bailey while hacking into Umbrella's personnel mainframe. We believe at this time that Dupree is Umbrella's most dangerous agent, and should be treated with extreme caution. We have no way of confirming the above information; all we have to verify it is Umbrella's files. From what I've read about him, this guy sounds like one bad hombre. It is the recommendation of this author that Dupree be dealt with as soon as possible, and by no less than a full SOC Team. If you run into him on a mission, all I can say is good luck.  
  
Information compiled by: Bryan Roberts, SOC Senior Analyst  
  
Author's Notes: Well, another chapter down. I hope everyone enjoyed this little historical update/ personnel brief. I wanted to shed a little light on the world of the SOC vs. Umbrella struggle, and to sort out the main characters that I had created and the ones that have been submitted thus far. The historical brief on Umbrella was a special treat I put in for the fans of the story, as were the spoilers (if you read carefully you can catch a few things I hint at; if you find something feel free to e-mail me, I'll confirm whether or not you're right but Don't post it as a review. I don't want to spoil it for people who haven't figured them out yet. Have no fear, if you really can't find them e-mail me and I'll give you a few hints about them) if you found them. Anyhow, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I got it done a little earlier than expected, so I'll move up the expected date for Chapter 7 by a day or so. Also, the name of the analyst has been made up so don't bother anyone who actually has that name.  
  
Next Chapter: The action returns as the SOC prepares its initial offensive against Umbrella, and works to develop an anti-virus from the vial recovered by Hunk. However, Umbrella's EW facility comes closer to locating the SOC headquarters, which could spell disaster for them. Will the SOC be able to take out the facility before it's too late? Tune in to Chapter 7- Hide and Seek.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
This one's for RamenKitty!  
  
Location: Unknown  
February 16, 2001 5:00 PM  
  
"This is CNN Headline News," came the voice from the TV's speaker. "We bring you live to the White House, where the President's press conference concerning the nuclear explosions in Shoreline has just begun." Several people began talking at once as the President walked out onto the stage.  
  
"Good afternoon," he said as they continued shouting questions.  
  
"Mr. President! Is it true that the nuclear explosions were intentional?" shouted one of the reporters.  
  
"At this time, we have no way of knowing," he replied as he was almost overshadowed by the shouting press.  
  
"What is your response to claims made by Al Qaeda admitting to responsibility for the attack?" the representative from USA Today asked.  
  
"At this time, we don't even know if it was an attack," President Bush replied. This answer didn't seem to satisfy the press who continued to repeat the question.  
  
"Are you saying that they lied about the attack?" the reporter from the New York Times asked.  
  
"We don't know. Next question," the President said.  
  
"What is your response to claims made by a survivor that before its destruction a cannibal virus was loose in the city?" the New York Times reporter asked with a smile. He was smelling blood as soon as he saw the reaction from the President.  
  
"We're investigating the incident," Bush replied knowing that he was trapped.  
  
"Do you believe there is a correlation between the incident and Shoreline and the destruction of Raccoon City? After all, both of them were destroyed by nuclear weapons," he asked, as the other reporters began to echo his question.  
  
"At this time there are no known correlations between the two incidents," Bush said as the reporter started a new question.  
  
"What about reports we received concerning military helicopters in the city? And the reported presence of an ex-member of the Raccoon S.T.A.R.S.? After all, aren't they federal fugitives?"  
  
"I haven't been briefed about the presence of any of the Raccoon S.T.A.R.S. in Shoreline. I'm sorry, that's all the time I have," Bush said before beginning to walk out of the room.  
  
"Mr. President," the New York Times reporter said, standing up. All of the other reporters were silent, knowing that he was the best-informed amongst them. By this point, they all wanted to hear what he said. "What do you have to say about reports that Al Qaeda and the S.T.A.R.S. have been working together? I believe the Times broke that story this morning. Do you believe that, combined with the suspected presence of a S.T.A.R.S. member in Shoreline and the S.T.A.R.S. association with Al Qaeda, that their claims might be true?"  
  
"At this point, we don't know. We have no idea about why the S.T.A.R.S. member was in Shoreline," Bush said before realizing what he had let slip. He had directly contradicted himself from the statement he had given less than twenty seconds ago.  
  
"Weren't you not briefed in about the S.T.A.R.S. member in Shoreline?" the Times reporter asked, seeing that he had the President. "What else haven't you told us? And what about the similarities between the circumstances surrounding the nuclear explosions in Raccoon and Shoreline, sir?" he added the sir almost as an afterthought. Bush swallowed hard before his press secretary came to the rescue.  
  
"This interview is over," he said as the reporters scrambled to get the information back to their home offices. The New York Times reporter smiled before walking out to his car and turning on his cell phone. Once he was sure no one was watching, he dialed and waited for someone to pick up the phone.  
  
"I just saw the press conference," Andrew Spencer said picking up the phone. "You did an excellent job of leading on the President. On behalf of our company, I wish to thank you for pursuing your story. When will you be running your piece about the attack?"  
  
"Hopefully within two days. Allow me to thank you Mr. Spencer. Without the contribution of the documents you sent me, along with supplying your witness, I wouldn't have had anything. Anytime you need something published, feel free to call me," the reporter said before hanging up.  
  
"What a fool. To think, he didn't even question why I had the documents I sent him, or how we got our hands on them. He accepted everything at face value. Your plan was exceptional, Mr. Walker," Spencer said as Tom Walker sat in the chair across from the desk. "You continue to prove your value to us. Between informing me of the Board's betrayal and neutralizing Hunk's vial of the virus you have saved my company."  
  
"It has been an honor to serve you, Lord Spencer," Tom replied as Spencer smiled.  
  
"Of course. Let's see how the American commandos manage to convince the world of our guilt when tomorrow's headlines are screaming about the S.T.A.R.S. involvement with the destruction of Shoreline and with Al Qaeda. They'll be laughed out of town. To think, they actually believed they could challenge me. I'll have the American President eating out of my hand before the month's over."  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
"That's right baby. Why don't you say that again for our viewers out there in T.V. land," a figure muttered as he pointed a pair of binoculars at the window. He looked through it and saw Tom leaving Spencer's office as Spencer sat back in his office chair. The figure placed the binoculars in his pocket, and backed away from the short wall on the top of the roof.  
  
"Now why don't you be a good boy and keep flapping your gums and I'll make sure every word you say gets sent back home to the SOC." The laser microphone was actually imbedded in the wall so it wouldn't be silhouetted like it would be if it were set above the wall. Several wires led to a satellite transmitter, which beamed every word of Spencer's conversation to the SOC. "That's what you get when you mess with Texas," he said in reference to the ambush of President Bush. He smiled before heading to the roof door to the stairs, and pulled out his cell phone. He hit his speed dial and said, "The bug is in play." With that, he opened the door and returned to anonymity. 


	7. Hide and Seek

Disclaimer: Resident Evil is owned by Capcom. All user-created characters are owned by their creators. Everything that I made up to make this story own all belongs to me.  
  
Author's Notes: Here we go; lucky number 7! Even though (at the time I'm writing this) FF.net is in the toilet, I'm hoping that the site will be back up soon. Did everyone enjoy the little background update from last chapter? I'm really liking the way this story is developing thus far, and I can't wait to see it finished (don't worry; I'm not going to cut corners or anything. This story is going to be friggin huge).On the downside though, school is rapidly approaching, and Band Camp starts in two weeks. That means that I have two weeks to get all of my summer work done (luckily I started it earlier in the summer). What that means for all of my readers is that you can expect updates to slow down a bit. During Band Camp, I'm pretty much out of the house from 8:30 AM- 10:00 PM. I have a week after Band Camp, and then it's back to school time. I'll try and update whenever I can, but my time to write is very limited. But never fear, I won't give up on this project (unless every PC in our house gets fragged by lightning, that'll be enough of a warning for me). Well, I'm starting to get bored with writing Author's Notes for this chapter, so on with the story!  
  
Operation Falling S.T.A.R.S.  
  
Chapter Seven: Hide and Seek  
  
SOC Headquarters  
Command Center  
February 16, 2001 5:10 PM  
  
"Jumping Jesus H. Christ, they just made a mockery of Bush," one of the technicians said commenting on the media's ambush of President Bush. They had all witnessed the New York Times reporter carefully bait the President into revealing that he knew about Barry Burton's presence in Shoreline. Every major media network was shouting this information from the rooftops, along with their own commentary on what they believed this could mean. They had thus far heard theories ranging from the CIA (and them, to a lesser extent) testing a biological weapon in the town and nuking it to remove the evidence to Burton collaborating with Al Qaeda to release a biological agent in Shoreline, to which the government responded by nuking it to prevent the spread of the virus.  
  
"Sir, we have a call on line 4," a communications officer said as he handed a phone to Ian.  
  
"Go," he said once the phone was up to his face. He nodded once, smiled and handed the phone back.  
  
"Harry, start uploading from our bug. I want everything that goes on in Spencer's office to be saved to our mainframes here and at the Alpha Site. If he farts, I want to know how many decibels it was," Ian said to the communications officer as he laughed. "We're going to nail that dirt bag Spencer."  
  
"Sir, we've got more good news for you," one of the lab technicians said running up to Ian. He was still in his Hazmat suit, which indicated to Ian he had just left the facility's clean room.  
  
"What is it?" Ian asked.  
  
"We've figured out the DNA sequences for the T-virus!" he exclaimed as Ian looked on puzzled. "What that means, sir, is that with the proper equipment we can make as much anti-virus as we want."  
  
"Excellent," Ian said with another smile. "Can we get our hands on the equipment?"  
  
"Absolutely sir. We'll have the machines we need here within a week, and be ready to start making anti-virus soon afterwards. The Alpha Site will be similarly equipped, and I've informed my colleagues there on how to produce the anti-virus. Let's just see Umbrella try to dick around with another city now!" he laughed as he walked back towards the laboratory to continue monitoring the T-virus analysis.  
  
"Let's keep the good news rolling people," Ian said as several of the surrounding technicians smiled. "I want this company run into the ground before they can hurt anyone else." Several of the personnel surrounding him gave a cheer as the others went back to work. "The ball's in Ken's court now."  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
SOC Headquarters  
Computer Lab #2  
February 16, 2001 5:23 PM  
  
"This friggin sucks," Ken muttered as he looked at the computer screen again. For the past three and a half hours he had been sitting there, trying to come up with a way to bounce his trace from Umbrella's main office, so the EW facility wouldn't be able to discover their location. So far he hadn't been able to come up with any way to do that. He also hadn't been able to figure out a way to disguise his trace as one of Umbrella's orders, since he had never seen one before. He pounded on the desk in front of him in frustration and let out a sigh. "God, any help here would be appreciated," he said lifting his gave skywards. Suddenly, the answer came to him. "Satellites," he muttered to himself as he began to reprogram his trace. He lifted up the phone next to his computer, and dialed in the extension for Ian's office. "Please be in," he muttered as the phone rang.  
  
"Hello?" Ian asked picking up the phone.  
  
"Sir, it's Kenny. I'm in Computer Lab 2, and I need access to Echelon. I'm going to see if we can intercept one of Umbrella's orders to the facility. I'm going to piggy-back my trace on that. If I'm fast enough, they won't be able to pick up the trace before I hammer them."  
  
"You'll have whatever access you need. We'll route an Echelon interface through your computer. It should be on-line in a few minutes," Ian said as Kenny's screen flashed with an inter-network download icon. The Echelon interface was transferred to his computer, and Kenny wasted little time getting to work. He scanned through the list of intercepted Umbrella transmissions until he found one that was being sent to the East Coast. He noticed that it was still in progress, and began to type like mad, attempting to bounce a signal along the transmission to the Umbrella base.  
  
"Who's your daddy!" he whooped as the trace pinged the mainframe in Umbrella's EW facility. He immediately printed off the coordinates, and killed the trace. In total, he had been in Umbrella's files for less than a half-minute, and was positive that his infiltration wasn't even detected. "Sir," he said as he lifted the phone back up and redialed Ian's number, "I've got them nailed. The facility is located about ten miles outside of Henderson, North Carolina. I don't think that my trace was made, so we can catch them with their pants down if we hurry."  
  
"Excellent news son," Ian said as he smiled on the other end of the line. "I'll start recalling everyone."  
  
"Boy are they going to soil themselves," Ken said as he smiled at the image. The thought of the SOC commandos storming the techno-weenies' base gave him a huge smile as he shut down all of the programs still running on the computer. He shut it down and just to be safe removed its connection to the network and the Internet. He walked out of the lab as the screen next to the computer he worked at blinked on. He failed to notice as the screen flashed, "Trace Program Detected."  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
SOC Headquarters  
Command Center  
February 16, 2001 5:30 PM  
  
"Sir, I'm detecting an outside signal pinging our computers," a communications technician said, as his commanding officer looked over his shoulder.  
  
"We're being traced!" he called out as several people scrambled over to their computers. For several seconds all that could be heard were the sounds of people typing, trying to block the trace program from discovering their location.  
  
"All clear," one of them said as he pushed his swivel chair away from his computer. "I managed to kill the outside lines for the surrounding area, and shut down our satellite system. We'll bring them back on-line in about fifteen minutes. I have no idea how close they got to finding our location though. Whoever it was that pinged us must've been some kind of God-hacker. They came in right through our sat uplink."  
  
"All right. Bring the outside lines back up but leave the sat uplink down for the time being. Do you have any idea where the trace came from?" the officer asked as the technician nodded.  
  
"From some kind of facility outside Henderson, North Carolina. Should I tell the boss?" he asked as the officer nodded.  
  
"He's going to want to hear about this. Start copying all of the files on our mainframe to disk; we may have to evacuate to the Alpha Site. I'll go brief the Assistant Director now," he said as he walked out of the command center. He ran down a corridor until he reached Ian's office, and knocked at the door before entering.  
  
"What can I do for you Lieutenant?" Ian asked motioning for him to take a seat.  
  
"We have a big problem. Somehow, a facility outside of Henderson, North Carolina attempted to ping us. We shut down our links with the outside world, but I have no idea how close they came to pinpointing our location. I ordered Carlson and the tech people to start copying our files," he said as Ian nodded.  
  
"Umbrella. I should've known that they'd be able to pick up our trace. Start the evacuation protocols, but don't take out any essential personnel. We've got to pay that EW facility a visit first."  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
Mall of America  
Washington, D.C.  
February 16, 5:32 PM  
  
"Which color do you think would be better for the bridesmaids, the red or the blue?" Melissa asked holding up two different colored dresses.  
  
"Honestly, I'd go with the blue," Matt said with a smile. He knew people who dreaded doing these things, but he had always enjoyed spending the time with Melissa. He didn't have nearly as much as he would've liked; therefore he learned to appreciate whatever time he had. Suddenly, his pager went off. He looked down and muttered, "Please don't be a 14."  
  
"What is it?" Melissa asked as Matt's face turned ashen and he muttered a curse.  
  
"A 14-4," he replied as Melissa stared at him.  
  
"In English?" she asked, knowing it would have to be bad.  
  
"A Code 14 means I have to go back in immediately. The 4 signifies that evacuation protocols have been initiated. That means someone either found the SOC headquarters, or has a pretty good idea of where to look. I have to call in," Matt said pulling out his cell phone.  
  
"I understand," Melissa said putting a hand on his shoulder. He looked at her and gave a weak smile before reaching the SOC. He listened for several seconds, and then explained his current situation.  
  
"Don't worry Matt," Ian replied. "We'll have someone pick you up. Once that facility goes up in flames we'll have you back home."  
  
"Thank you sir," Matt said as he hung up.  
  
"How bad is it?" Melissa asked with a look of concern on her face. She had always worried about Matt when he was called away on missions.  
  
"There's good and bad news. The good news is that we pinpointed the location of Umbrella's Electronic Warfare facility. We're mobilizing to take it out right now. The bad news is that we think the facility has either found us, or narrowed the search area to an area small enough to find us. We're cleaning out our computers and starting to evacuate non- essential personnel. I've got to go in and join the strike team heading for the facility. I want you to take the car, and go back home. I'll be back tomorrow afternoon. Don't worry, it'll be an easy mission," Matt replied as he handed her the keys. She took them and gave him a quick kiss.  
  
"For luck," She said with a smile. She left the store with a tear in her eye as Matt began to walk for the mall entrance. He got there and began to look for who would be picking him up. He almost didn't notice the person walking behind him, but caught a glance as he passed a storefront. He turned down an alleyway and waited for the person there. He couldn't make out who it was as they walked down the alley after him. He pounced out from behind a dumpster and tackled the person to the ground.  
  
"Jesus Christ, is this the way you greet all of your friends?" Mark said pushing Matt off of him.  
  
"What're you doing here? I thought you guys were up in Maryland still," Matt said helping Mark to his feet.  
  
"We were down here when Ian called and asked us to pick you up. We're going to meet the helicopter outside the city; they have your stuff with them. We've got to haul," Mark said as he walked back out of the alley and got into a waiting car. Matt saw Paul behind the wheel and Greg in the passenger seat.  
  
"It's about time you showed up. Mark's been looking for you for a while," Greg said as Mark shot him a glance. "I probably don't want to know," he added. Paul put the car into gear and began to drive out of the city. After almost a half-hour they reached the city limits, and Paul took the first road off the highway he could. He continued down it until they reached a clearing, then he shut off the engine.  
  
"It's nice to have GPS," he said as Matt heard heavy rotor blades cutting into the air. He looked up to see their helicopter preparing to land in the clearing. They all got out of the car, and ran over to the helicopter. Matt noticed that only Team 2 and the rest of Team 3 were on the helicopter.  
  
"Where are the others?" he asked once they got on.  
  
"They took a second helicopter. They're going to arrive before us and create a safe LZ outside of earshot of the facility. We're going in on foot," Sam said, tossing Matt a black duffel bag. "The rest of your stuff is in the back." Matt took his combat suit and boots out of the bag, and kicked off his shoes. He pulled the suit on over his clothes, and laced the boots up. He walked over to the back of the helicopter and picked up his F- 1100, Desert Eagle, and his helmet. He sat down next to the weapons in the back, and put his helmet on. He pulled out some grenades and clipped them to his belt, then began to search the back for ammunition. He grabbed several clips of armor piercing bullets, and began to take some clips for the Desert Eagle.  
  
"WE SHOULD BE THERE IN ABOUT AN HOUR!" Greg yelled so that he would be heard over the rotors. "ONCE WE LAND, WE TAKE OUT THAT FACILITY!" Matt nodded before shifting so that he could look outside at the scenery as it passed. He put his head against the wall of the helicopter and shut his eyes, trying to get a few minutes of rest before the helicopter landed and they set off for the Umbrella facility. He knew that whatever he could get would be appreciated later.  
  
"Matt, wake up," he heard someone say. He looked around and saw that the others had already loaded their weapons and were looking outside. It was dark out, so he unslung his pack and pulled out his night vision goggles. He turned them on and set them over his eyes. Everything shot to life with an eerie green glow as he pulled out a rifle clip for his F-1100 and slapped it in. Then he loaded a shotgun magazine in, and slapped a clip into his Desert Eagle.  
  
"How long until we're down?" Matt asked once he was ready to go.  
  
"Three minutes," Mark replied as he pulled back the slide on his pistol. All of them were ready for battle as the helicopter began to descend. Matt put his Desert Eagle back into its holster and readied his F- 1100 in case they were met with a hot LZ. The helicopter hit the ground with a bump, and Mark pulled the door open. They all jumped out, and the helicopter took off again.  
  
"Teams 4, 5 and 6 should be holding position in the tree line," Greg said pointing to a line of trees fifty meters ahead of them. Matt slid the visor of his helmet down, and crouched down as he ran for the tree line. The others followed as he arrived. He scanned the area, but didn't see anyone.  
  
"Anyone out here?" Matt called over his radio. He turned and saw several SOC commandos stand up out of the positions they had camouflaged themselves in.  
  
"Glad to see you finally make it," one of them said with a laugh. "Victor O'Connor," he said sticking out his hand. "Team 4 commander. To my immediate right is Grant Hudson, my Team Marksman and Medic. To my immediate left is Rob Bennings, my Team Scout. Team 5's leader is Dylan Jenkins, and his squad members are Sancho Fernandez and Karl Andrews. Team 6's leader is Aaron Watkins, and his squad members are Terry Donning and John Paulson. We've been waiting for you guys and dusk so we can make our move. Time is of the essence since we believe this is the facility that pinpointed our location."  
  
"So they confirmed that we were detected," Matt said.  
  
"Not yet, but at least the trace originated from here. We still don't believe that they know we're coming," Victor said. "We've got to get moving though. I want to take them out and get back to base."  
  
"Me too Victor. How far is the facility from here?" Matt asked as Victor pulled out a map of the area.  
  
"Looks to be about a half-mile. We haven't been able to detect any kind of surveillance system out in the clearing so my guess is that they were depending on not being discovered up here. Still, we all have signal jammers going in case," he replied as Matt nodded.  
  
"Good idea. We can make the half-mile in ten minutes if we're cautious. I want to stop just before we reach the facility and position snipers where they can cover it," Matt said as Victor nodded.  
  
"Let's get going," he said as the Teams formed up and began walking through the woods. They were all being careful to not make a sound in case there were sensors out there to detect their arrival. They made it to the tree line at the outskirts of the facility before finally seeing any sort of security. Several guards were patrolling the grounds, but it appeared to Matt that they were lightly armed. He lifted his helmet and increased the magnification in his goggles as he passed his gaze over the security forces that were on the grounds. He smiled when he saw that none of them had any sort of night vision equipment; they were relying solely on the lights around the facility.  
  
"Can we take out the lights?" Sam asked as he spied a power line that was feeding electricity to the facility. "If we cut that line all of their lights go out."  
  
"And they realize that they're being attacked and their computers go boom," Matt said motioning an explosion with his hands. "We need to get in there stealthily or quickly. Once we secure the computers, the Marines can come in and shoot up the place."  
  
"How do you suggest we get in?" Greg asked. "I can't see anywhere that isn't covered by the lights, and there are plenty of guards around."  
  
"How about shooting out one of the lights?" Dan asked unslinging his sniper rifle. He took the covers off of the lenses of his scope and set the rifle's tripod up.  
  
"Does that thing have a silencer?" Matt asked.  
  
"You bet I have one," Dan said pulling the silencer out. "Give me a target."  
  
"I have a better idea," Matt said as he spotted a fuel tank at the back of the facility. "Someone toss me a Cobra," he said as Victor handed him the grenade launcher. "We're gonna blast a hole in their big old fence."  
  
"What happened to quiet?" Greg asked as Matt smiled.  
  
"Or quick. Once that fuel tank goes up, Dan's going to start nailing lights. Victor, I want you and your Team laying down cover fire. We're going straight for the computer labs, and anyone who gets in our way is getting shot," Matt said as he extended the stock and clicked on the launcher's laser sights. He lifted his visor and switched his goggles over to thermal, highlighting the laser against the cold night air. The beam of light settled just far enough over the tank to compensate for the round dropping over the distance as Matt slowly squeezed the trigger. The grenade shot out, and landed right behind the fuel tank. The tank went up with a huge explosion, flattening most of the chain-link fence on its side of the compound. Dan opened up with his sniper rifle, knocking out lights as the fire hampered the effectiveness of the thermal and night vision equipment of the Umbrella security systems. Once the SOC commandos were past it, they had no such problems. The light from the fire also illuminated the Umbrella guards, allowing the support troops to pick them off.  
  
"Grenade on three," Matt said when they had reached the door to the facility. He grabbed the handle for the door as Paul un-clipped a frag grenade. Matt opened the door as Paul tossed it in, and quickly closed the door as the grenade exploded. Matt slung his grenade launcher on his back and shouldered his F-1100. He stuck his head inside the doorway, and saw the mangled corpses of several guards on the floor. "It's clear," he said as he opened the door and stepped in. The others followed him in as Matt began heading for the stairs.  
  
"Let's see, we want to be on the third floor. It's the first lab on the left," Sam said as he looked over a map that he found on a wall.  
  
"One more flight of stairs then," Matt said as he scanned the hallway to his left. There were no guards, but several technicians were running around at the end of the hallway. None of them appeared to notice the SOC teams, as they continued up. Finally, they reached the third floor hallway. They stopped before the entrance to the hallway as Matt poked his head around the corridor. He didn't see anyone as he waved the others forward.  
  
"Keep it nice and slow. I want Teams 2, 5 and 6 to provide cover outside the door. Dan, how's it going out there?" Matt asked as he heard the sniper fire another shot over the radio.  
  
"We're going to be relocating soon. There's been a lull in the action, so we're going to try and make it to your building. We'll call when we get into position," Dan replied.  
  
"Keep under cover. The guards are going to be really riled up in a few minutes," Matt said before turning back to the door. He tested the knob, and slowly pushed the door open when it turned. He looked inside, and saw several technicians working on the computers, but no guards again.  
  
"Alright, I think you guys have done enough work on those for tonight," Matt said as he walked into the room with his rifle leveled. Several technicians stepped away and began to run for a door in the side of the room before Mark and Adam cut them off.  
  
"Who are you? What are you doing here?" one asked, challenging them.  
  
"Sit back down before one of our trigger fingers slips," Sam said pushing the technician back into his seat.  
  
"Kenny, get into one of the computers they're logged into and copy all of their info. Greg, call up those Marines and let them know they can start the party up in a few minutes," Matt said as he pushed one of the technicians away from his computer. Ken sat down and began typing at the keyboard, before putting one of the CDs that he had brought with them into the computer.  
  
"Beginning download," he said stepping away from his computer.  
  
"This is Dan, we're in the building. We're heading up for the roof," he called as Matt nodded.  
  
"Okay. Greg, what's the status on those Marines?" he asked as Greg looked up.  
  
"Not good," he said, "they've been called off."  
  
"What do you mean, called off?" Mark asked looking up.  
  
"I mean they're not coming. We've been left out here with no support," Greg said as several of them muttered curses.  
  
"Okay. Let me talk to Ian and see if I can get us an evac helicopter to get out of this mess," Matt said as he pulled a cell phone out of a pouch on his belt and took off his helmet. He hit the speed dial button, and was put right on with him. "Sir, have we been cut off?" he asked as the line went silent for several seconds.  
  
"The President has ordered an immediate cessation of all operations against Umbrella," Ian replied with a sigh. "The Marines have been called off. I tried to get them back, but it was too late. There's a helicopter en route, but you'll have to hold out for at least fifteen minutes longer. I'm sorry," he said as Matt hung up the phone.  
  
"Change of plans, guys. We're holding this place for the next fifteen minutes. There's an evac bird on the way, so we just have to hold out," Matt said as he put his helmet back on. "Dan, are you all in position yet?" he asked as he walked over to Ken to check the progress of the information download.  
  
"Yes sir," Dan replied as Matt heard one of Team 4's SAWs open up. "So far we've pinned a bunch of them behind some vehicles. They can't get within fifty meters of the front. It's a shooting gallery and they're the targets," he added with a laugh.  
  
"We've got to hold them off for another fourteen and a half minutes," Matt said checking his watch. "After that, we're being pulled out."  
  
"We've got enough ammo to hold all day," Dan replied settling his crosshairs over an unlucky Umbrella security guard. He pulled the trigger as the heavy .50 caliber round literally cut the man in half.  
  
"That's good to hear. Our information download is going to be complete in ten minutes," he added as he walked over to the hallway. "What's the status out here?"  
  
"We're good," Sam said as he gestured down the hallway towards the bodies of two guards that had tried to approach the computer labs. "Apparently our two friends down there were intending to plant some incendiaries on the computers. They didn't accept our proposal for them to surrender. Other than that, it's been quiet," he began as Matt saw several shadows at the end of the hallway.  
  
"Maybe it's about to heat up a bit," he said as he gestured at the shadows. Suddenly a grenade bounced around the corner and began rolling down the hall. No one needed to give a command as the SOC commandos took cover wherever they could. The grenade stopped and began to spit out thick gray smoke, until the whole corridor was filled. Some was even beginning to seep into the computer lab, even though it had been over-pressurized to prevent such a thing.  
  
"Boy are they about to find out how unlucky they are," Adam said as he flipped his goggles on to their thermal vision setting. The heat from the guards' bodies cut right through the smoke, allowing the SOC commandos to cut them down with little effort. Several of them ran back around the corner as the floor's ventilation fans began to pull the smoke out of the building.  
  
"It would've really sucked if that was tear gas," Zander said with a laugh as the others looked at him. "What, what did I say?"  
  
"They're right down the hallway," Sam said before smacking him on the back of his head, "We're trying to not give them ideas about how to flush us out."  
  
"Sorry sir," Zander said before Sam put his hand on his shoulder.  
  
"It's okay; you're entitled to make mistakes. Besides, we've got ways of dealing with gas."  
  
"Here they come again," Matt said as three more guards cautiously walked down the corridor. "Karl, would you be so kind." Karl pulled out a frag grenade and heaved it down the corridor, where it landed at the feet of the Umbrella guards. It bounced a little bit past them, but was still close enough to kill them when it exploded. The guards were literally lifted off of their feet as the fragments perforated their bodies.  
  
"Now let's see how long it takes for them to come up the back door," Matt said before gesturing to the staircase that they had come up a few minutes earlier.  
  
"Sanch over there," Sam said pointing to Sancho Fernandez, "set up a few little surprises for anyone who wants to come up the stairs."  
  
"We need to keep those stairs secure so they don't hit Dan and Team 4 from the rear," Matt said as Dylan nodded.  
  
"We've got it," he said as he motioned Karl and Sancho forward. They took up positions covering the staircase as Matt reloaded his rifle.  
  
"Boss, we've got some problems up here," Dan called over the radio as Matt looked up, "And you're going to have some down there soon."  
  
"What's happening Dan?" Matt asked as a muffled explosion rocked the building. He heard a couple of people cursing lightly over the radio as he waited for Dan's response.  
  
"We're pinned down up here," he said as another explosion went off. "CHRIST!" Dan yelled. "They've got a friggin rocket launcher set up and pounding us. Get your people away from the windows 'cause they're probably gonna start shelling your floor next."  
  
"Alright Dan. You heard the man people, keep clear of the windows and stay towards the inside of the building. Kenny, what's the status on that download?" Matt asked as he crouched down and began walking towards one of the computer labs with a view to the outside. He poked his head up, and saw a group of about fifteen guards making a run for the building. The team with the rocket launcher was set up on the roof of one of the smaller buildings, and was in the process of reloading for another shot on the building. "Gonna be long range," Matt muttered as he pushed the window open slightly. He settled his sights on the crew with the launcher, and slowly squeezed the trigger. The man holding the rocket dropped to the ground as his head exploded, showering his partner with his remains. The second man tossed the launcher aside and dove for cover before Matt could take another shot. Unfortunately, the team approaching the building had seen both his muzzle flash and the window he was shooting from. "I hate when this happens," Matt said before kicking backwards off of the wall. The window shattered in a blaze of gunfire as the guards opened up on him. What they didn't realize though was that since the rocket launcher was no longer pinning Team 4 down, they were available to use their heavy weapons against them.  
  
"Now we've got a party!" Grant whooped as he opened up on the guards with his SAW. The guards scattered as he worked his fire over them, managing to take out half of their number before another rocket hit the building.  
  
"Now I'm ticked," Matt said before placing his F-1100 on the ground. He shouldered the Cobra, and clicked its laser sights on. He put his goggles on thermal vision mode, and settled the now-visible laser over the rocket launcher. "You should've just stayed down," he muttered as he pulled the trigger. The rooftop erupted in flames as both the grenade and the remaining rocket launcher ammunition exploded.  
  
"Boss, we're getting rushed out here," Sam called over the radio as the sounds of weapons being discharged drifted into the lab. Matt picked up his rifle, crouched down and walked to the door, and saw two Umbrella guards hiding in a corridor in front of him. One was shaking as he clutched his AR-15 while the other was preparing to throw a frag grenade down the hallway.  
  
"Why don't you boys just go on home," Matt said stepping out with the grenade launcher leveled at them. Both guards raised their hands up before slowly backing down the corridor they came from. Matt kept the launcher pointed at them until they had turned the corner at the end of the hallway, then he turned and sprinted back to where the SOC commandos had established their defense.  
  
"Kenny, now that we don't have any pressing interruptions, how much longer is that download going to take?" he asked as he checked how many rounds he had left in the Cobra.  
  
"I had to switch disks twice so far, but we should be good to go in about three minutes," he replied.  
  
"Excellent. Do we have a way to contact the evac helicopter?" Matt asked as he heard more gunfire coming from outside.  
  
"Yes," Aaron said as he tossed Matt a portable radio. "Their call sign is Paladin, and ours is Castle."  
  
"Boy, more wonderful code names from the intel boys," Matt muttered as he turned the radio on. "Paladin, this is Castle. What is your statue, over?"  
  
"Castle, this is Paladin. Our ETA is standing at eight minutes. Where will I be expecting to meet you, over?" the helicopter pilot asked.  
  
"We'll be on the roof of the tallest building in the complex. Be advised, the tangos have rockets and heavy machine guns. Advised approach vectors are from the South and the East, over," Matt said as he heard more fire outside slamming into the building.  
  
"Copy that Castle. We'll be there in a jiff," the pilot responded before Matt turned off the radio and tossed it back to Aaron.  
  
"We're out of here in eight minutes people," Matt said before two huge explosions shook the building, knocking him off of his feet. "WHAT IN THE NAME OF GOD WAS THAT!?" he shouted as he got back to his feet, checking for any Umbrella guards who were attacking.  
  
"They used a suicide," Dan said, "I shot him. He was freakin loaded to the gills with C-4, and I guess was going to blow himself up once he got in. He must've had a dead man switch on that thing. The whole front lobby of the building looks like Swiss cheese from up here, but I think the building is structurally safe."  
  
"That's good to know. I wouldn't want to ride this building down into the ground," Matt said as he smiled a little. "Besides, we're going to drop it once we're done here, or at least gut this floor."  
  
"Now those are words that I like to hear," Greg said over the radio as several of the others snickered.  
  
"The explosion jarred the computer a bit, but it's still downloading. Just try and keep that from happening again, okay?" Ken said as Matt smiled.  
  
"Don't worry about them, the front, back and sides are covered. We've just got to wait for the helo," Victor said as he settled the sights of his sniper rifle over one of the guards who was shooting randomly at the building.  
  
"Well now that we've got that taken care of, Greg would you start wiring this floor up to go boom once we pull out?" Matt asked.  
  
"I'll get right on it. Someone's going to need to take my place in there keeping the techno-weenies in line though," he replied.  
  
"I'm all over it," Adam said as he ran to the door in case there were any guards waiting to take a pot shot down the hall.  
  
"Make sure you get the labs, but don't go out to far," Matt said as Greg walked past him. "In fact, Sam would you go with Greg and keep the guards off his back while he rigs this place up?"  
  
"Sure thing boss," Sam said as he stood up next to Greg.  
  
"Download is going to be complete in thirty seconds," Ken said as Matt gave a sigh of relief.  
  
"That's great news Kenny. We're not going to have enough room on the chopper for all of them, so you're going to have to pick a few and let the rest go. Advise them that continuing to work for Umbrella would be hazardous for their health, and that if they turn themselves in they'll be offered immunity," Matt said as Adam looked at him.  
  
"You're going to let them go just like that?" he asked. "What if they go right back to Umbrella?"  
  
"Then we take them out again," he replied as Ken ran up to Matt.  
  
"We've got everything. Those four are going to be taking a ride with us," Ken said as he gestured to the four Umbrella technicians who were restrained with plastic ties.  
  
"Dan, get ready. We're going upstairs people. Aaron, toss me the radio," Matt said as the others began to head towards the stairway. "Paladin, this is Castle. What's your status, over?"  
  
"Castle, this is Paladin. We've got a visual of the compound. We'll be there momentarily, over," the pilot of the helicopter replied as Matt smiled inwardly.  
  
"Excellent news Paladin. We're heading for the roof right now. Expect hostile fire, over."  
  
"Copy that. Catch you on the flip side," the pilot replied as he signed off the radio. Matt tucked it into one of the pouches on his belt, and walked over to the stairs.  
  
"Going up," Mark said as he turned the corner and began to walk up the stairs. The others followed, with Zander and Greg keeping the prisoners moving. They climbed the four stories up to the roof without incident as Sancho brought up the rear, leaving various explosive surprises for anyone planning on jumping them.  
  
"Dan, we're at the door," Matt said as he turned the knob and pushed the door to the roof open. "Jeez, you guys weren't kidding about being under some heavy fire."  
  
"Here comes the chopper," Victor said pointing out into the darkness. Matt turned on his night vision goggles, and saw the black helicopter coming up on the facility. He waved his arm in the air as the pilot slowed down and brought the helicopter to a hover just over the roof. He saw a similarly clad person leaning out of the opposite door with a rifle, firing down into the Umbrella guards. Even though the helicopter was bouncing slightly, he was able to score several hits on the guards.  
  
"Load up people," Sam said as the SOC commandos began to enter the helicopter.  
  
"Greg, start the countdown," Matt said as Greg pulled out the remote detonator for the C-4. Matt was the last one on to the helicopter as it slowly lifted off the roof. The man with the rifle was still shooting as Matt saw he had a modified F-1100 with a scope on the top of it. "Nice shooting there. May I ask who you are?"  
  
"Fred Hunter, Team 8 Commander and Marksman. Pleasure to meet you. Ian sent me to make sure you guys had some cover on the copter. We think they've found us," he replied as Matt nodded.  
  
"I suspected as much. We should be able to beat them to the base if we hurry. Tell the pilot to floor it, and drop us off at the SOC. Once we're clear, tell him to set the helo down at D.C. We're going to have to repel the Umbrella assault," he said as Greg handed him the detonator.  
  
"You want to do the honors, boss?" he asked as Matt took the detonator and flipped the safeties off.  
  
"This is for Shoreline," he said as he pushed the detonation button. The C-4 Greg had planted throughout the building detonated in a symphony of explosions, turning the electronic warfare complex into a huge fireball against the night sky. "Let's get out of here."  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
Umbrella Incorporated Main Office  
February 16, 2001 7:00 PM  
  
"Mr. Dupree, thank you very much for again carrying out my instructions to the letter. Unfortunately, when I said that I wanted the head of Mr. Hughs on my desk, I didn't mean literally," Andrew Spencer said as he opened the door to his office. Pierre Dupree was standing in a corner of the room, amidst the shadows cast by the lamp on Spencer's desk.  
  
"Like you said, Lord Spencer, I followed your instructions to the letter. HCF no longer posses a threat to the company. Their top leadership has been eliminated," he replied with a slight smile.  
  
"It's nice to know that I still have some people that I can count on in this organization. I'll take your report in the morning if you want to take the rest of the night off." Spencer had noticed that Pierre was still clad in his combat uniform, and that there was blood spattered all over it. Along with the severed head on his desk, Spencer was more than a little disgusted with his top agent.  
  
"Of course, my Lord," Pierre replied as he exited the office. Spencer waited until the door closed before paging his secretary.  
  
"Jane, please send someone from maintenance to remove an unwanted decoration from my desk immediately." He sat down in his chair and swiveled it around so he wouldn't have to look at the head lying on his desk, which scared him slightly. The door to his office shot open as one of his aides ran into the room.  
  
"Lord Spencer, we've found him!" he yelled as Spencer looked up with a smile. After the disaster in Shoreline, things were finally starting to go his way again.  
  
"Excellent news. Prepare my helicopter and deploy two USF teams to the area. I want to make sure the area is secured before I arrive," Spencer said getting up out of his chair and heading for his private elevator. 'Now that we've found him, there will be nothing to hamper the development of our new B.O.W. programs,' he thought to himself as he rode the elevator up to the roof. The pilot and co-pilot were already at the helicopter and stopped to salute him before he got on. Once he sat down, he noticed that there were three heavily armed agents with him as well.  
  
"We lucked out," one of them said once the door was closed. "It turns out he was only about fifty miles away from the Headquarters. We'll be there in less than twenty five minutes." Spencer settled himself back into his seat and buckled his seat belt, brimming with excitement. 'I can't wait to get there,' he thought with a smile. 'Those Americans are finished now.'  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
Somewhere to the Northwest of Paris, France  
February 16, 2001 7:27 PM  
  
"The area is secure, my Lord," one of the USF agents said as he saluted. "He is the only one inside."  
  
"Let's go then. It's freezing out here, and I'm wasting my time standing around," Spencer replied with a smile. They walked a short way up the hill until Spencer saw a small cabin which looked like it had been unoccupied for some time. "You're sure this is the right location?"  
  
"Yes, my Lord. We have visual confirmation that the target is in the cabin," the USF agent replied, pulling back the slide on his AR-15 assault rifle. Two other USF agents were standing at attention outside the door to the cabin as Spencer grasped the knob and turned it. He entered hesitantly, and saw the man he was looking for sitting in an easy chair facing a small fire burning in the fireplace.  
  
"Ah, Mr. Wesker. We've finally found you. It's taken us all of this time, but we found you," Spencer said as he walked over to the chair. The figure barely even moved, only turning his eyes slightly behind the dark sunglasses he was wearing.  
  
"My Lord," one of the USF agents whispered, "We believe the virus has destroyed most of his mind. He has been completely unresponsive since we arrived here. He's barely even moved."  
  
"I see," Spencer replied as he looked over at Wesker again. "What a dreadful fate for one of our best agents. But you can still be useful to the company Mr. Wesker. If we could have a sample of your blood, we will be forever indebted to you." Wesker only sat there, and still said nothing. Spencer waved one of the USF agents forward. The man withdrew a syringe and slowly approached Wesker, knowing what the man sitting before him was capable of doing. He took out an alcohol pad and rubbed it on his forearm, and slid the needle in. He filled the tube up, took the needle out, and capped it very slowly, trying not to snap Wesker out of his apparent trance. He still sat there, unmoving, as Spencer smiled.  
  
"Thank you very much Albert," he said as he stood up. "I'm terribly sorry about what's happened to you. Don't worry; your virus will go on to serve Umbrella well." Spencer walked to the door, flanked by the three USF agents, and headed back towards the helicopter. "He's a vegetable," he said once the door was closed. "We have nothing to fear from him. In fact, I'm surprised he's still alive. Let's get out of here and get that blood back to our scientists.  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
Wesker waited until he could no longer hear or smell Spencer or his pathetic guards, then sat back in his chair and smiled lightly. Now that Spencer believed he was no threat to the company, he was finally free to leave the company. 'I've got twenty million dollars locked up off-shore, and no one will even think to search for me because they'll think my mind has been destroyed. A vegetable? I can't believe Spencer bought my act so easily. I'll finally be able to get out of this. No more S.T.A.R.S. or Umbrella or HCF hunting me. I'm a free man again,' he thought as he began to come up with ways to spend his money. 'I'm going to go somewhere where it's always warm. Then I'm investing the crap out of this money. I'll come out of this filthy rich, while Spencer and the rest of his troupe end up dead. One thing Spencer should've realized was that I told him exactly what I wanted him to hear. Of course, he's a bloody fool, along with all of the others. I should've gotten out of this a long time ago.'  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Well, that's it for Chapter 7. I hope my little twist with Wesker was at least slightly surprising. I tried to do something that I haven't seen yet, and that was Wesker taking his money and running. I tried to work off of the cold, calculating aspect of his character. He realized that it was time for him to cash out, and he pulled a fast one on Spencer & Company for sure.  
  
Anyways, I'm sorry this hasn't been completed until now. I had a college visit, managed to get a hold of a copy of Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic to rent, and also got Grand Theft Auto: Vice City. Now I'm going to Connecticut, and won't be back until the day before Band Camp. The picture I'm trying to paint is to not expect any updates until the weekend of the 10th of August at least. Enough of my techno-babble, time for the Coming Attractions.  
  
Next Chapter: Umbrella launches its assault against SOC Headquarters as Spencer finds out he's taken some unexpected losses while he was away. The SOC scientists begin producing T-Virus vaccines as Teams 1-6 and Fred Hunter race back hoping to add to the SOC defenders. Tune in to see what happens in Chapter 8: Counter-Strike. 


	8. Counter Strike

Disclaimer: Resident Evil and everything associated with it is owned by Capcom. All reader-submitted characters are owned by their creators. Everything I create for the purpose of enhancing this story belongs to me.  
  
Author's Notes: Well, 7 down and a whole bunch more to go. This chapter is going to be the Band Camp Special, since I'm starting it during Band Camp (and hopefully finishing it soon). I don't have anything major to address from Chapter 7, so I'll take the freed-up space to thank everyone who's reviewed/ sent in a character/ e-mailed me. Your taking the time to read my project is greatly appreciated. This chapter's Jeer Award goes to FF.net, which saw fit to change my author name to Matt6, which officially puts me behind some 13 year old punk that writes about Digimon. Way to go fellas!  
  
Operation: Falling S.T.A.R.S.  
  
Chapter Eight: Counter-Strike  
  
Somewhere over the East Coast of the United States,  
February 16, 2001 8:45 PM  
  
"We'll be on the ground in forty minutes," the pilot said as Matt grabbed ammunition for his weapons. The others were following suit, replenishing the ammo they had expended in the firefight at the Umbrella EW facility. No one knew how long they would have before Umbrella's attack began, or if they would be able to get ammo beforehand. None of them wanted to be caught dropping into a firefight with no ammunition left.  
  
"Drop us off about a quarter mile from the facility. I don't want to lead them to the elevator or one of the emergency access points if I can help it. We'll move in on foot. It'll also give us a chance to pick some Umbrella troops off if they beat us there. Have you been able to raise Headquarters on the radio?" Matt asked the pilot.  
  
"I tried the radio, and a cell phone but I haven't been able to get through yet. I'm guessing they somehow spotted the Umbrella troops and shut down their communication systems. They probably have some sort of emergency system up though, but I don't know how to reach it," the pilot replied as Matt smiled.  
  
"Let me see your cell phone," he said as the co-pilot handed it back to him. Matt dialed, and brought the phone up to his ear. "Hello," he said when the phone on the other end was picked up, "I'm glad to see that everything's okay."  
  
"And I'm glad to hear you're on your way back. I trust that your business trip to North Carolina was profitable?" Ian asked as Matt smiled.  
  
"Yes it was. No one got sick, and we even brought back a few representatives from another company to meet with you. I'm happy to say the trip was a complete success," Matt replied keeping up the charade in case anyone was listening in. The emergency communication system was actually Ian's personal cell phone, which was why not many people knew the number. By speaking in code, they were able to get their messages across in case anyone was eavesdropping on the line.  
  
"That's good. We're expecting company in about an hour. Will you be able to make it before them, to help set up the welcoming committee? Ian asked while he smiled on the other end of the line. The Umbrella helicopters had taken off less than ten minutes before, and that they had been able to detect them so soon was almost a miracle. Matt on the other hand frowned, knowing that the SOC Headquarters had been discovered.  
  
"We'll be back before then. Leave the lights on for us. Where are you going to want us set up?" Matt asked as Ian paused for a minute.  
  
"There's a much higher probability of them parking in front of the garage, so I think most of the decorations should go there. Of course, thanks to our good friend, they might also be persuaded to come right to the front door. We'll have that taken care of," Ian said. This time it was Matt who smiled.  
  
"Okay. We'll see you in a little over half an hour," he answered before hanging up the phone. Matt handed the phone back to the co-pilot, and turned to brief his fellow SOC commandos. "I've got good news and bad news, people. The bad news is that Umbrella's mobilizing against the SOC Headquarters. With the defection of Mr. Walker, we believe Umbrella has information about our defenses, and entrances to the HQ. They don't have any valid security codes, so we shouldn't have to worry about them using the elevator itself. It's entirely possible though that they pry the doors open and rappel down the elevator shaft. Ian believes that an assault through the parking garage is much more likely, and I'm inclined to agree. We'll have people at the elevator, of course, but not nearly as many as we put in the garage. Of course, we'll have a pretty big reaction force in case either side needs reinforcements. Our orders for the time being are to reinforce the parking garage, and to hunker down. Ian's expecting them to be there about twenty minutes after we arrive, giving us just enough time to get prepared. I wouldn't put it past them to have some advanced unit on the ground already, so keep up your guard. In the mean time, I'd advise everyone to take a quick nap. We just left one firefight, and we'll be in another before long. Use the free time to get some rest."  
  
"How many troops do you think Umbrella's going to send?" Mark asked.  
  
"A lot," Matt replied, "and their best. With Tom telling them about our numbers, our defenses, and our security systems, I would expect them to send whatever they've got."  
  
"On the other hand," Greg said with a smile, "I think they launched this off pretty quickly. I don't think it's very likely that they had all of the units they needed for this attack waiting stateside. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if it turns out that the facility called in a strike from one of Umbrella's response units. If that's the case, the first wave is going to be a bunch of weekend warriors with no idea about our numerical strength or defenses. Plus, there's no way of knowing if Tom even gave Umbrella that information. If he did, his usefulness to the company would be just about zero. He's smart enough to realize this, and will probably only give Spencer enough information for him to draw his own conclusions. That's what I'd put my money on."  
  
"But if this attack fails, wouldn't Spencer be more inclined to kill Tom?" Zander asked as Fred smiled.  
  
"No. Spencer would still need Tom to provide information about the SOC, especially our other bases. Plus, Tom must have some sort of influence over Spencer, or else he would've been shot as soon as he went to him. Let's face it, no one's going to really care if Spencer has Tom iced. My only concern is how much information he gets out of Tom first. Tom knows a lot about us, personally. That's what we really need to look out for," He said as he propped his feet up on the seat across from him, and wiped a smudge off of his scope.  
  
"Let's worry about that after we cut the legs out from Spencer's plans," Matt said with a smile. "Once we take out this assault, we'll probably send someone to their base to take them out. Along with whatever we can hit in a rapid succession of attacks. Before long, Spencer's not going to have any illicit facilities in the U.S. to make his monsters."  
  
"Right on," Paul said giving him a high five.  
  
"Now all we have to do is wait," Sam said sitting back in his seat to get a few minutes of rest before getting back into the action.  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
Umbrella Incorporated Main Office  
Paris, France  
February 16, 2001 8: 47 PM  
  
"You mean to tell me that I've lost FOUR FACILITIES IN THE LAST TWO HOURS!" Spencer yelled as he threw a chair at the door to his office. The aide giving him the bad news managed to dive to the floor just before the chair could hit him in the head. He then rolled to the side to avoid a paperweight that crashed into the door and landed where his ankle would've been.  
  
"Lord Spencer, you must remain calm," the aide said as Spencer resumed throwing things around his office.  
  
"CALM? HOW CAN I REMAIN CALM WHEN I FIND OUT I'VE LOST FOUR FACILITIES IN LESS THAN TWO HOURS!?" he shouted back.  
  
"We were caught by surprise. By all reports, the American commandos hit three facilities, while the S.T.A.R.S. hit a vital chemical facility in Canada," the aide replied. "USF teams are already heading to the areas to ascertain the locations of the Americans, and the S.T.A.R.S. and will report back when they make progress."  
  
"Send Mr. Walker in here, right now," Spencer growled as the aide backed out the door. Tom strode in a half minute later, with a blank expression on his face. 'He's very good at hiding his emotions,' Spencer thought, 'maybe too good.'  
  
"You wished to see me, Lord Spencer?" Tom asked as Spencer smiled.  
  
"You are going to tell me everything you know about the American commandos, right now. If you do not, I am going to shoot you."  
  
"Of course, my Lord. I don't know the exact location of the SOC Headquarters, but I do know it is within an hour of Washington D.C. If they were to be attacked, reinforcements would be less than an hour away. From the defenses they have set up, it would be almost impossible for a frontal assault to be successful. In fact, it's almost impossible for any attack to be successful, even a viral attack," he added before Spencer could mention the possibility of using one. "Our best options are to either use B.O.W.s en masse, every security soldier we have and all of the USF, or lure them out and pick them off by team."  
  
"Lord Spencer," the aide said, returning to the room.  
  
Spencer shot him a glance before nodding and allowing him to speak. "What do you want?"  
  
"We've received word that another facility has been attacked by an unknown force. It was our Electronics Warfare facility in North Carolina. However, they have discovered the possible location of the attacker's base, and dispatched four USF units from our emergency response facility in Atlanta," he said, hoping Spencer wouldn't have him shot. Instead, he smiled and gave a light laugh.  
  
"Those fools have actually managed to do something useful. It seems we either have the location of the S.T.A.R.S. base while they are still out on a mission, or we've discovered the location of the Americans. Wait for a report from them, and make sure to forward it to me as soon as it arrives. I'm interested to find out how the assault plays out, and who it turns out we're dealing with," Spencer said as he dismissed the aide. "Now Mr. Walker, please tell me something useful about the Americans, like names for example."  
  
"The only one I know is the one who probably took over my position in the unit. His name is Matthew Ryan, and he is arguably the best soldier that we, I mean America, has. Fanatically loyal, an expert shot, he is the best of the best. If you take him out, you'll be removing a powerful enemy," Tom said as Spencer motioned for him to continue. "That's about all that I know," he added.  
  
"What about his personal life? From what it sounds like, we aren't going to be able to attack him successfully physically, but if we can shatter him emotionally, it would have the same effect," Spencer said with a smirk.  
  
"I would advise against it, my Lord. He is already a dangerous foe, on the same level as an entire S.T.A.R.S. team by himself. Attacking him personally might make him more inclined to the idea of a direct attack against our present location. Umbrella's HQ is a highly visible target, and an obvious target for an attack. I hesitate to give you this information, but all I know is that his fiancée is Melissa Jones, one of your researchers," Walker said, keeping a straight face even as he fought back a grin. 'This fool will go after her, driving Ryan right to Umbrella's front door. He'll destroy Spencer, leaving me free to take the company as my own. Of course, he'd bring a majority of the SOC here with him. In fact, if I destroy the building while they're in it, I'll kill three birds with one stone by taking out Ryan, a good portion of the SOC, and Spencer. I wish I could see the face on Ian when he learns that over half of his precious commandos have been wiped out, all in one attack. He'll have a heart attack, for sure. Now I just have to plan how to set it up.' Tom didn't hear Spencer's next sentence, and asked him to repeat it.  
  
"I said, Mr. Walker, that I would like you to find Ms. Jones and place her in our new program. We'll find out if we can make Tyrants out of Wesker's virus, and deal a crippling emotional blow to one of our main opponents. You continue to earn your keep Mr. Walker, and have my congratulations for coming up with such an effective plan. Your jet for America will be leaving in a half hour, which should give you enough time to get the clothes you need from your office," Spencer said as Tom realized that Spencer had him under surveillance. There was no other way he could have found out about the emergency stash of clothes he had in his office, and that conclusion left him unsettled. That Spencer would put him under surveillance meant that the defection of Hunk had made him even more paranoid about his employees.  
  
'What an excellent opportunity,' Tom thought as he stood and walked out of the office. 'If I can push him over the edge, he might destroy himself, saving me the trouble. Now to deal with Ryan and the SOC.'  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
SOC Headquarters  
February 16, 2001 9:24 PM  
  
"Let's go people," Matt said as the helicopter descended over the field. Matt was the first one to jump out, and swept his rifle across the field in case some Umbrella troops were already there. The others followed suit as Matt crouched and began to run towards the parking garage. He made it to the camouflaged exit ramp, and opened the access door.  
  
"So far so good," Sam said as he walked past Matt into the garage. Matt pulled out his cell phone and dialed Ian again.  
  
"We're in the garage sir. Any updates on our company?"  
  
"Fifteen minutes until the lead helicopter is right over our heads," he replied as Matt grimaced behind his helmet's face shield. The Umbrella soldiers were so close, and he still had a nagging feeling that there was already a team out there. "The others will be here within five minutes. There's about six helicopters in total, and if they're filled up there should be about one hundred and twenty people, give or take."  
  
"Who do we have here to defend?" was Matt's next question.  
  
"Your group, and Teams 8, 9, 11-16, 18, 20, 24,27,29,30, and 33-38. Everyone else is either unreachable or out on assignment. We hit another three of Umbrella's facilities, and the S.T.A.R.S. hit one as well. The Teams out will be back as soon as they can, but we deferred them to the Alpha Site so they don't have to land in a hot zone," Ian replied. Matt quickly did some mental calculations, and figured that they had seventy eight SOC commandos ready to repel the attack, over half of their number. He smiled, knowing that they would be able to hold out against them.  
  
"What are we going to do after we repel the attack?" Matt asked, knowing the answer already.  
  
"We relocate to the Alpha Site, and destroy the HQ. We aren't going to be able to hold out if Umbrella knows where we are," Ian replied sadly.  
  
"Maybe we can stay here," Matt said as an idea suddenly came to him. "Kenny, do you think you can get into Umbrella's network and delete the location of the HQ?" he asked as the computer specialist paused in thought.  
  
"If you give me enough time, then I should be able to," he said as Matt smiled.  
  
"Ian, if Kenny can delete the location of the HQ from Umbrella's database, then all we have to worry about is the assault that's coming now," Matt replied.  
  
"What about the pilots? They'd have the map coordinates for us, along with any survivors," Ian said as Matt smiled.  
  
"We jam their equipment, first off. Then we take their helicopters down, and make sure that we capture any survivors. We'll be able to stay, and Umbrella won't be any the wiser to our location," he exclaimed with a smile.  
  
"Ryan, have I ever mentioned that I like your thinking? We're bringing the jammers online momentarily; switch your radios to channel 6. If you need to contact me, only 555 prefixes on the cell phone will be accepted. I'll send Teams 16 and 18 out with some Stingers to go helicopter hunting if you make sure that no Umbrella troops escape."  
  
"Yes sir. We're going to deploy now," he replied, "I'll call you back if we need anything." Matt hung up, and then turned to the others around him. "Fred, your Team needs you inside. Everyone else, listen up. We're not going to sit in the vehicle bay and wait for Umbrella to come knocking. Ian gave us all hunting licenses with the condition that no Umbrella personnel escape. Now let's get set up and shock the crap out of them."  
  
"Where are we going to set up?" Sam asked as Fred and Ken ran inside the base to accomplish their tasks.  
  
"Victor, put your people in the farmhouse. It's the highest point in the area, and should give you guys some excellent vantage points. Greg, take Dan with you and give them some cover; once Umbrella finds out where they're being shot at from they'll hit you guys hard. Dylan, I want you and your team to get dug in and camouflaged in the woods where you can cover the field and vehicle bay, along with Aaron's team. Sam, your team and mine are going hunting for Umbrella's helicopter LZs, and we're giving Teams 16 and 18 some cover while they shove Stingers up their tailpipes. Make sure that you don't shoot us while we give the Stinger teams some cover," Matt said as the teams scrambled to deploy in time to meet the Umbrella assault. Matt and Sam led their teams to the tree line, where the stood waiting for Umbrella's helicopters to arrive.  
  
"Here we go," Adam whispered as the faint sound of spinning rotor blades washed over them. Matt saw a helicopter fly low and quickly over the area, before turning around and slowing to a hover in the middle of the field where the farmhouse was situated. Suddenly, a rocket shot out of the building, striking the helicopter and crippling it. The helicopter pitched over on to its right side as the pilot tried to keep it in the air, before losing the battle. It smashed into the ground, with the rotors sending streams of dirt into the air as they cut into the ground.  
  
"One down, five to go," Mark muttered as he tightened his grip on his F-1100.  
  
"But where are the other five?" Matt asked as he heard automatic weapons fire coming from where he had deployed Teams 5 and 6.  
  
"Guys, we're getting swarmed over here. Anything you can do to help would be appreciated," came the voice of Sancho Fernandez as two explosions went off almost simultaneously.  
  
"Move it!" Matt yelled as he bolted for where the two besieged Teams were. He arrived in time to see almost thirty Umbrella troops pinning Dylan and Aaron's Teams down, taking cover wherever they could find it. "Open fire." Matt still had his grenade launcher from the EW facility, and put it to good use dropping trees on Umbrella soldiers, and firing a round into whatever concentrations of Umbrella troops he could find. Bullets flew through the air as both sides exchanged fire, most of them landing harmlessly in the underbrush of the woods.  
  
"Zander is down!" someone yelled over the radio net as Matt saw him take a bullet in the shoulder, and fall backwards.  
  
"I'm okay," he choked out before firing at an Umbrella soldier who was preparing to through a grenade, and catching him in the throat with a round. The soldier was decapitated by the heavy 12 gauge slug, as the grenade fell at his feet and detonated, sending two more Umbrella personnel flying through the air.  
  
"Sam, Adam, get him to the medical staff in the base. We can mop up whoever's left out here without you guys.  
  
"Matt, I'm okay. The body armor managed to stop the round before it did any damage. You're going to need everyone you've got out here anyway, unless Ian has any reinforcements coming our way," Zander replied as he sat back up, and caught another Umbrella soldier in the open, peppering him with buckshot and slugs before the man finally went down.  
  
"I don't think so," he replied as another helicopter screamed by overhead. "Victor, get everyone out of the farmhouse now!" he yelled as he caught a glimpse of several 2.75mm rockets under the wings of the helicopter. He checked his clip and saw that he had armor piercing bullets loaded, then started to track the helicopter. He pulled the trigger, and managed to hit one of the helicopter's fuel lines. It swung violently as its engine stalled momentarily, giving everyone in the farmhouse enough time to get out before it could fire a lethal volley of rockets. By the time it was able to resume level flying, one of the Team 16 members had a Stinger missile off, homing in on the heat radiated by its engine. The helicopter exploded as the fuel from the ruptured fuel tank was ignited, sending burning debris to the ground all over the open field surrounding the house. Luckily, the farmhouse was undamaged by the attempted attack.  
  
"If you guys could give us some cover while we get into the tree line, it'll be appreciated!" Greg yelled as they came under fire from another group of Umbrella troops, this time approaching the HQ from the North.  
  
"We've got this group contained," Sam called over the radio as Matt reloaded his rifle. "Matt, go help out Greg, and take Dylan's team with you. It sounds like you'll need the back-up."  
  
"Keep your heads down guys," Matt called out as they ran to help out their pinned down comrades. Matt was especially nervous about spending an extended amount of time in an exposed field where Umbrella snipers could focus in on him, and his fears were realized as a bullet whizzed by his head. "Everyone down!" he called out as he hit the dirt. A second bullet sizzled overhead, and if he wouldn't have ducked it would have hit him right in the chest. "Where're those things coming from?" Matt called over the radio as he switched his goggles from night vision to thermal. He managed to roll to the side before a third bullet arrived in the space he had previously occupied, kicking a spray of dirt up against his face shield.  
  
"He's at your three o'clock, range 300 meters," Karl called out as Matt brought his rifle up and squeezed a long burst at the sniper. Both he and his spotter fell, as Matt resumed his trek to Greg's position.  
  
"Hope you guys saved some for us," Paul called as he fired a double blast into the back of an Umbrella commando. They had managed to arrive in a position allowing them to flank the Umbrella units attacking Greg and the support teams, giving them several easy kills before the Umbrella teams reorganized and returned fire.  
  
"There're plenty of them to go around," Greg replied as he fired a burst from his P-90 into the face of an unlucky Umbrella soldier. The man fell to the ground in a crumpled heap, only to be replaced by another soldier, as the Umbrella troops continued to advance. "Any suggestions?"  
  
"Keep under cover," Matt replied as he pulled out a frag grenade, pulling the pin and counting to three before flipping it around the tree he had been using as a shield. The grenade detonated as bullets continued to smack into the tree. He risked a glance and saw that three Umbrella troops were down. He fired a short burst at two more troops that were taking cover behind a nearby tree, before ducking back to reload. "Hope you guys are fire-proof," he muttered before leaning out with his grenade launcher and firing an incendiary round into the tree. Flames shot out around the tree, setting both soldiers on fire. They managed to drop down and smother the flames, but they realized that they were out of cover and that there were armed commandos in the vicinity. They smartly chose to toss their weapons as far as they could, and remained face down on the ground, waiting for either their comrades to rescue them or the SOC to restrain them.  
  
"We're secure," Sam called out as the sounds of gunshots from his end of the field stopped.  
  
"Hold your positions," Matt said as he ducked a storm of bullets that came from his side of the tree this time. Several more Umbrella troops had arrived, catching the SOC commandos in a crossfire. "Let's take out the newcomers," he called as he fired three incendiary grenades at the soldiers behind them, along with two smoke grenades. He hoped that between the flames and the smoke, their night vision systems would be blinded long enough for the reinforcements to be dealt with. He dove forwards, and managed to kick a grenade that had just landed back towards the soldier who threw it. It exploded in mid-air, spreading fragments through the woods.  
  
"Give us a little warning before you do that again," Greg called over the radio. "We're lucky that no one on our side got hurt."  
  
"On the flip side, they're unlucky that two more of their troops are down. Greg, can you and Dan, along with Victor's team and the support boys hold off the reinforcements while we deal with the remainder of the original troops. I don't like being in a cross fire one bit," Matt replied as another storm of bullets pelted the tree he was using as a shield. Splinters flew in every direction, but the ballistic nylon that his suit was made out of managed to keep them from doing any damage to him. He turned, and emptied his clip into the troops that had shot at him. He caught four of them in the open, and the armor-piercing bullets managed to punch through the trees and drop another two.  
  
"We can take them," he replied before firing another burst from his P- 90 into the onrushing Umbrella troops. One went down with a 5.7mm round to the chest, while a second had both of his legs hit. Neither of them continued shooting, so Greg focused on other targets that were more threatening. He managed to take out another soldier before being forced back into cover, but at least the Umbrella troops had stalled in their advance. "Any chance of getting some help, or are we fending for ourselves Matt?" he called out as he swapped out his now-empty magazine and replaced it with a fresh one.  
  
"Let me call Ian. I'll get back to you as soon as I can," he replied as he pulled out the cell phone and hit the speed dial with his left hand while shooting at a small group of Umbrella soldiers with his right. "Sir," Matt said when the line was active, "are we going to get any reinforcements out here? We've tangled with about half of their force so far, and at least for me ammo is starting to get tight." Matt did a quick check and saw that he had three more 7.62mm magazines, and six shotgun magazines left, along with four magazines for his Desert Eagle.  
  
"There're about twenty Umbrella troops at the entrance to the parking garage, being held back by fifteen of our troops. I can send up some of the reaction troops through the elevator, but it'll take them a few minutes to arrive. Just hold out for a little longer," Ian replied as Matt drained the remainder of his clip and knelt to slap in a new one, holding the phone with his shoulder.  
  
"We'll do our best sir," he said as he fired into a rushing Umbrella soldier with his shotgun, sending the man flying backward. He hung up the phone before taking a second to assess their situation. "How many helicopters have we shot down?"  
  
"We've downed four helicopters sir," a member of Team 16 replied.  
  
"Gary? How are you guys doing?" Matt asked as a lull arrived over the battle.  
  
"Fine sir. In fact, here comes helicopter number five," Gary said as he knelt down and brought his Stinger up to his shoulder. "If they keep this up, I'm going to be an ace!" he exclaimed as he achieved a lock on the helicopter. He pulled the trigger, sending the missile on its way. The helicopter tried an evasive maneuver, but was barely able to start turning before being hit in its tail. The entire tail section was blown off as the helicopter dove nose first into the ground. "That's number four for me. Anyone see the last helicopter?" he asked. Suddenly, the sound of rotor blades filled the air, as Gary turned around. The last Umbrella helicopter was less than fifty feet above him, and less than one hundred feet away. "Oh crap," he muttered as it brought its nose down, preparing to fire its chin-mounted minigun. Gary dove behind a tree, dodging a stream of bullets. The helicopter was not to be denied however and began to walk its fire towards the tree where Gary was hiding. Gary managed to grab the Stinger launcher, reload, and again dove out of the line of fire before he could be killed. "Good bye," he muttered as he pulled the trigger. The rocket shot out, and hit the helicopter right in its windshield. It exploded in mid- air, and began to fall towards where Gary was taking cover. "Why does this have to happen to me!" he yelled as he dropped the Stinger and ran for safety. He made a running leap and managed to get behind a downed tree before the helicopter's remains hit the ground. He pulled out his Colt .45 and began to scan for any Umbrella soldiers before he noticed that he had landed on Mark. "Sorry Mark."  
  
"Please get off of me before we both get shot," he replied as he shoved Gary to the side and sat up. He fired at two Umbrella soldiers hoping to sneak up on them, and caught both of them with body shots. Gary looked around, and saw an M4 within arm's reach, and grabbed it. He caught a glimpse of an Umbrella soldier preparing to use a grenade launcher, and shot him in the neck. The soldier dropped to the ground as Gary continued to scan for targets. He didn't see any, so he took the opportunity to crawl over to the corpse of a nearby guard and relived him of his ammunition. He crawled back, and helped Mark hold off another Umbrella soldier. "This is starting to get old fast," Mark whispered.  
  
"Okay, by Teams how many enemy soldiers have we killed?" Matt called over the radio. Each squad member contacted their leader, who tallied up the confirmed and suspected kills before reporting to Matt.  
  
"Team 2 has fifteen confirmed kills and another four suspected," Sam said.  
  
"Team 3 has eleven confirmed kills and six suspected," Greg said as he fired at another Umbrella soldier. "Make that twelve confirmed," he amended as the soldier dropped with a hole in his skull.  
  
"Team 4 has nineteen confirmed kills, and two suspected," Victor said as he placed his sight on an Umbrella soldier. The man was able to get back into cover before Victor could get a twentieth kill for his Team.  
  
"Team 5 has six confirmed and four suspected," Dylan said as he fired a short burst at a moving Umbrella soldier, missing his target.  
  
"And Team 6 has eight confirmed and one suspected," Aaron said.  
  
"And Team 1 has twenty one confirmed, six suspected. That means we have 81 confirmed, and up to 104 total killed. If there're twenty at the vehicle bay, we've encountered their advanced unit. They should be just about out of manpower up here, so we've almost taken their assault out. Keep it up guys, they can't have much more left," Matt said as a pair of hands stuck out from behind the tree he was shooting at.  
  
"We have two people surrendering," Greg called.  
  
"They're surrendering here too," Sam added as another guard tossed his weapon away.  
  
"Approach with caution guys. We may have just won this thing," Matt said as he lifted his helmet. "Come out, and keep your hands in the air." The Umbrella soldier walked out, and turned so that his back was to Matt. "Lie down on the ground, face down," Matt added as he let his rifle dangle from its sling and pulled out his Desert Eagle and a plastic wire tie. "Put your hands behind your back and interlace your fingers," he commanded as he placed the muzzle of the Desert Eagle at the base of the soldier's skull. The man complied as Matt slid the wire tie into place around his wrists, then patted him down for any hidden weaponry.  
  
"All remaining hostiles are surrendering," Victor said as he watched through the scope of his sniper rifle. "The HQ's thermal and acoustic sensors are showing a total of sixteen Umbrella soldiers still alive."  
  
"Let's round them up people," Matt said as he pulled out the cell phone. "Sir, the situation is contained. All remaining enemy personnel appear to be surrendering."  
  
"Excellent news. Reinforcements are coming up to relieve your positions. Once they arrive, get yourselves down here for an immediate debriefing," Ian replied as he smiled.  
  
"Anyone hit?" Matt asked next as he lifted the Umbrella soldier up, and began pushing him towards the field.  
  
"Other than the hit Zander took, we're all okay," Sam called as Matt gave a sigh of relief. He took a moment to survey the surrounding area, and saw how many bodies there really were. "We're going to need someone out here to take care of these bodies," he added. "Okay, by Team, report how many prisoners you have."  
  
"Team 2 has 3," Sam said as he finished putting restraints on the third one.  
  
"Team 3 has 2," Greg said.  
  
"Team 4 has 2," Victor called in.  
  
"Team 5 has 4," Dylan replied.  
  
"Team 6 has 2," Aaron said as they brought their prisoners into the field.  
  
"Team 1 has 2 also. We're short a prisoner," he said as he looked around for the man they had missed. He caught a glimpse of his body heat through his thermal goggles, and saw that he was running through the wood. Matt raced after him, and the man tripped over a tree root allowing Matt to catch up to him. "Stay down on the ground, and put your hands behind your back!" he yelled as he pointed his Desert Eagle at the man. He slowly approached and restrained the last prisoner, then searched him for any hidden weapons. "We've got them all," he called over the radio.  
  
"The relief Teams are here," Dan called over the radio.  
  
"Okay, let's get down then. Kenny, you still have your radio on?" Matt asked.  
  
"Yes I do. And to answer your next question, I was able to delete our location from Umbrella's mainframe. Since their helicopters were all shot down and it sounds like we took care of all of their troops, I think we're in the clear."  
  
"Let's wrap this up. I'm in a hurry to get home," Matt replied as he walked the last Umbrella soldier back to the field. Mark and Paul were waiting for him as the relief troops herded the prisoners towards the vehicle bay, so they could all be brought down at once. More troops were going through the bodies and removing weapons as well as dragging them into more centralized locations. Matt pushed the prisoner into line with the others, then joined his teammates as they walked over to the barn.  
  
"I think I've had my day's allotment of fun," Mark said as he slid his rifle onto his back. "Honestly, if Umbrella sends anyone else up here I'm going to be really angry. I've seen enough of them for today."  
  
"I couldn't agree with you more pal," Paul said as Matt and Mark stopped to look at him. "What? What did I say?"  
  
"More like what didn't you say. I think that was one of the first sentences you've spoken that hasn't been either a failed attempt at a joke, or something that was stupid. Maybe we're making progress," Mark said as Matt and Paul laughed.  
  
"Let's get downstairs and get debriefed. I've had enough action to last me for a few days," Matt added as he slid his keycard through the reader at the elevator, taking it down. He got off, and walked down to the end of the hallway and got on the second elevator, followed by his friends. They got on, and he pushed the button for the third floor. The doors closed and the elevator descended.  
  
"Looks like the troops are out in force," Mark said as he stepped out of the elevator when the doors opened. Matt had just raised the blast door, and Mark saw that there were easily fifteen troops on the other side, all of them behind cover and armed with heavy machine guns. Once they saw Matt, they let the group pass. Each SOC commando took the time to offer a handshake and a solemn nod, acknowledging what they had to face outside the Headquarters.  
  
"Okay, let's get this over with," Paul said as they walked through the doors into the command center. Ian was waiting for them, and led them to the first briefing room that was available. Once everyone had sat down, Matt started asking questions.  
  
"Have we taken any casualties? Did any of the Umbrella troops manage to get a radio transmission off before the jamming went into effect?"  
  
"Slow down Matt," Ian replied as he held up his hands, motioning for him to stop asking questions. "We took three casualties, all of them light. That's not counting the armor hits, of course. At this time, we don't believe any of them were able to get a radio signal off before we jammed them. Since Kenny deleted our location from their mainframe, I think we're in the clear." Matt sighed and leaned back in his chair, relaxing for the first time in four hours.  
  
"Thank God," Mark muttered as he took his helmet off and tried to get comfortable.  
  
"I'm not going to keep you gentlemen any longer tonight. From what I heard, it was a mess out there and that everyone managed to survive is a minor miracle. You went out there heavily out numbered and out gunned, and kicked the Umbrella troops square in the teeth. We'll handle your debriefings tomorrow. Now get out of here," Ian said as he smiled. He left the room as Matt closed his eyes for a moment.  
  
"Let's bail," he said as he headed for the locker room to get the spare set of clean clothes he had there. "Screw it, I don't care if the clothes I have on stink," he added before taking off his suit and wiping some dirt off of his jeans. He brought the suit to his locker, and put it in. He saw that his shoes from earlier in the evening were in front of the locker, so he took the opportunity to take off his boots and put his sneakers on. He realized that he didn't have a car on the premises since his truck was back home, so he looked for Paul and Mark.  
  
"Need a ride?" Mark asked, reading his mind. "You're in luck, we were heading that way. Let's go," he said as Matt and Paul followed him to the parking lot. They got in Mark's car, and buckled in before he drove out of the bay. Nearly the entire trip was made in silence, as Matt tried to get a little rest before making it home. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed Melissa's number, intending to let her know he was okay.  
  
"Hi, this is Melissa," she said as he began to say hello, "And Matt. We aren't here right now, so leave a message and we'll get back to you as soon as we can." Matt left a message letting Melissa know he was okay and coming home, and then sat back. He had a sudden cold feeling, like something was terribly wrong. He couldn't put his finger on it as Mark made the turn onto Matt's street, and stopped the car.  
  
"See you tomorrow Matt," Mark said as Paul waved. Mark smacked him in the back of the head before putting the car in gear and driving off. Matt immediately noticed that Melissa's car wasn't in the driveway, which immediately got him worried. He jogged up to the front door, and unlocked it. The answering machine had two messages on it, and there was a note next to it in Melissa's neat handwriting. Matt picked it up and scanned it quickly before sitting down and reading it again.  
  
Matt, sorry I wasn't home for when you got back. My boss called me in and told me it was something important. I left some files about Umbrella on the kitchen table; hope that you can put them to good use. See you when I get back, Melissa  
  
Matt put the note down, the cold feeling still not going away. He checked his watch and saw that it was a little after 2:00 in the morning. Suddenly, the phone rang. Matt walked over and picked it up, hoping to hear Melissa's voice.  
  
"Hello?" he asked as he heard slight laughter in the other end of the line.  
  
"Ah Mr. Ryan, I'm glad to hear that you survived Umbrella's assault," Tom said, as Matt froze.  
  
"How did you get this number you treasonous motherf," Matt began as Tom cut him off.  
  
"From the phone book you simpleton. I have someone here who'd like to talk to you," he replied as Matt heard muffled voices on the other end.  
  
"Matt?" Melissa asked, unsure if it was really him.  
  
"Oh God," Matt replied, sitting down. "Are you okay? Just hang on, I'll get you away from them."  
  
"I'm fine. They're holding me in," she began before Tom snatched the phone away.  
  
"Now that would be telling, wouldn't it?" he asked.  
  
"Let her go. She has nothing to do with this. It's me that you and Spencer want," Matt said trying to keep his voice calm.  
  
"Wisconsin!" Melissa yelled, breaking free of her guards and yelling towards the phone, hoping that Matt could hear it.  
  
"Why did you have to ruin all of my fun?" Tom asked as he smiled at Melissa. "I was going to tell you anyway, but that would ruin my fun. It doesn't matter, we'll be leaving momentarily. Just wanted to call and say hello."  
  
"When I get my hands on you, I'm going to kill you," Matt said, less of a threat than a guarantee.  
  
"I wouldn't have it any other way. We'll be waiting for you," Tom replied as he hung up. The shock finally caught up to Matt as he sat down, realizing that they had Melissa. He put his head in his hands, and sobbed quietly for several minutes before grabbing his keys and heading for the door. He pulled out his cell phone and speed dialed Mark, hoping that he had left his phone on.  
  
"Yo," Paul said as he picked the phone up.  
  
"I'm going back to the HQ," Matt said, "Tom just called me here. He has Melissa."  
  
"We'll be there as soon as we can," Paul said as he relayed to Mark what Matt just said. Mark took the first exit off the highway he could, and turned around. Mark pulled a police light out from under his seat, and proceeded down the highway at about 90 miles per hour. Paul hung up the phone before looking at Mark. "What did he do to deserve this?" he asked. All Mark could do was shrug. That was the only explanation he could come up with.  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
Somewhere in Wisconsin  
February 17, 2001 2:07 AM  
  
"Watch out," one of the USF agents said as Melissa continued to struggle. Tom finally walked up to her and pulled out a syringe, which he injected into her arm. Immediately, Melissa stopped fighting, and sank to the ground.  
  
"What are you going to do?" she asked as everything began to spin.  
  
"We're always on the lookout for volunteers for our weapons project," Tom replied with a sadistic smile. Melissa finally passed out as two USF agents grabbed her, heading for the van that was parked outside. "Make sure she stays restrained until we arrive," Tom added before getting into the passenger seat. Another USF agent took the wheel, and two more sat in the back with Melissa and the other two agents.  
  
"What are we going to do with her?" one of the agents asked.  
  
"You must be new," Tom replied, "since otherwise you would know not to ask questions of your superiors. Since I'm in such a good mood though, I'll answer your question. She is going to be one of our first prototypes for the Alpha program. Such a noble fate for someone who was conspiring against us."  
  
"Yes sir," the agent replied even though on the inside he felt disgusted. He hadn't signed up to escort people who were going to be the victims of viral experiments; far from it. His only reason for signing up with Umbrella was that they were paying more than any other company recruiting in his home town. This man, Mr. Walker, scarred him. He seemed to be one of the most sadistic people that he had ever met, taunting the man on the phone and kidnapping his fiancée for more of the company's experiments. At that moment, he vowed silently that no matter what, he would find out how many other people were going to be experimented on, who they were, and would try to let someone know where they were. 'I hope that someone comes to rescue them,' he thought to himself as he looked at the young woman next to him. 'No one deserves this.'  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
Northern Montana  
August 6, 2001 4:00 PM  
  
Matt looked down at the paper that was in his hand. A few days earlier he had received an e-mail from someone claiming to be a USF agent assigned as a guard at an Umbrella facility in Northern Montana. He said that Melissa, along with several other people, were being held up here. He also said that he no longer wanted to be a part of Umbrella, and would be resigning before Matt could get up there. In the mean time, Matt had received a package from the man containing a map of the facility, a keycard to the compound's security doors, and pictures confirming that Melissa was there.  
  
"Thanks," he muttered, hoping that the USF man was able to get out alive. The last five and a half months had been the worst of Matt's life, as he searched desperately for Melissa. On top of that, the SOC's plans had been brought to a near standstill after the President halted operations against Umbrella. They had only been able to conduct a few intelligence gathering missions, and that had been done mostly from the computer labs. The most important thing they had been able to do was start producing the T- Virus vaccine, and even that was going slower than expected. Between the frustration of not being able to take down Umbrella and not being able to find Melissa, Matt was nearing his breaking point. Then the e-mail and package from the guard arrived, giving Matt hope for the first time in months. He knew from the e-mail that they were doing experiments on her, and the mere thought of it mad him nearly insane. He scanned the perimeter of the compound with his goggles set to their zoom function, and counted a half-dozen guards outside the facility, along with eight more in the front lobby. Luckily, Matt had come prepared. He walked back to the van he had used to get here, and took the spare tire out of the back. He placed the van in gear, tossed four bricks of C-4 into the back of it, and dropped the tire on the accelerator. The van smashed through the chain link fence around the compound, and barreled right into the front lobby. Matt hit the remote detonator for the C-4, and the resulting explosion shook the whole building. He brought his rifle up and peered through the scope on it, ventilating the skulls of the remaining guards before they could even realize what had happened.  
  
'Now let's see what we have here,' Matt thought to himself as he ran past the hole in the fence, and into the compound's destroyed front lobby. He knelt next to the door leading deeper into the compound, and took a moment to check his map. The route that he needed to take would run past the security office, along with the main conference room and a briefing room. He figured that there might be more friendlies in the compound, since the e-mail had been sent to five other people. Matt expected them to arrive here any minute, and hoped that they wouldn't be disappointed. 'Look at me; I'm already expecting this to not work out. That kind of thinking is not going to help here,' he thought. He kicked open the door and walked down the hallway, his rifle up and ready to go. The security office was completely empty, and no one had come running to see what the explosion was. 'This is too strange,' Matt thought, the lack of guards not adding up. The cold feeling he first had almost six months ago had returned as he continued down the hallway. He heard voices coming from the conference room, and stopped outside the door. He slid a fiber optic probe under the door, and saw that four other people were standing around and talking. He paused to listen, and heard them talking about people that they were looking for. 'Looks like I'm in the right place,' Matt thought as he opened the door.  
  
"I'm Matt Ryan," he said, introducing himself as he stepped in. "And it looks like we're all up here looking for someone. As soon as the last person gets here, I guess we can get started."  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Author's Log: Supplemental Stardate 8.19.2003  
  
Okay, I know, I ripped off Star Trek, but I just had to do it! I also know that I skipped almost six months of action. I'm sorry! If this story continued at its previous pace, it would've taken me forever to finish. What I'm trying to convey is that in the beginning there was a lot of action, then nothing for a while, then the action picking up again until the end. It also gave me a chance to spread my story out a little, instead of having seven chapters cover less than a week. I just want to be able to read the finished story someday! Can you blame me?  
  
Anyway, I wanted this chapter to lead directly in to RE: Blood Ties, by Sporty-Girl. Obviously, the people in the conference room are the people who won the lottery to get into the story (minus Pierre Dupree). You can follow their adventures in BT, and see what happens. It's a great story, and O: FS is actually my prequel to Matt Ryan's appearance in the story. Of course, it's going to continue after BT, which is where Chapter 9 comes in.  
  
Next Chapter: Blood Ties draws to its conclusion as Matt Ryan is left to deal with the aftermath. But when he's made an offer to undo some of the damage, will he accept it? Spencer announces the re-organization of Umbrella, and Tom is finally located by the SOC. Will Matt pull the trigger? Tune in next time to Chapter Nine: The Hunt is On 


	9. The Hunt is On

Disclaimer: Resident Evil is owned by Capcom. All characters that have been submitted to me are owned by their creators. Everything that I create for the purpose of enhancing this story belongs to me. In addition, all your base belongs to me!  
  
Author's Notes: Eight down, a crap lot more to go! I'd like to thank all of my reviewers (your comments are appreciated, keep 'em coming!), Sporty-Girl for accepting two of my characters into her fics and taking the time to mention my story, and everyone else who deserves a big thanks. I couldn't do it without all of you!  
  
I think that I'm going to break the story up by year. When I reach the end of 2001, I'll make a new story for O:FS 2002. I don't plan on it going on into 2003 for very long, so I'm going to roll it into part 2. This is going to be a massive 100,000+ word per part 2-parter. So you'd better sit back and get comfortable, because here comes Chapter 9!  
  
Note: If you haven't read Resident Evil: Blood Ties by Sporty-Girl, this chapter isn't going to make much sense. Also, go to www.umbrella-inc.com and read The Battle of Shoreline in the Ongoing Fiction section. It'll make the new character's background a little clearer.  
  
Apology: Jon, I'm sorry that I never recognized you for submitting Fred. I'm also sorry that he wasn't on Umbrella's side, like you asked. Your character (with a different name) will be appearing in either the next chapter, or the first chapter of The Fall of Umbrella. I promise that a mistake like that will never be allowed to happen again!  
  
Operation Falling S.T.A.R.S. Chapter Nine: The Hunt is On  
  
SOC Headquarters  
August 7, 2001 10:05 AM  
  
"Welcome back Colonel," one of the members of the security detail said as Matt walked by, not acknowledging them at all. Two pilots ran up to the Umbrella helicopter and prepared to move it, in case there was a tracking device built into it. As Matt entered the barn and activated the elevator, the helicopter lifted off and headed towards Washington D.C. All of the SOC's aircraft were stored there, ensuring that there weren't a large number of aircraft just sitting around outside the Headquarters.  
  
"Sir," another security man said as Matt stepped off the elevator and down the hallway to the second one. "The Assistant Director has requested that you meet him right away. I'm to escort you to him, sir."  
  
"Lead the way then Andy," Matt replied allowing the Team 23 member ahead of him. He scanned his card into the reader and waited for Matt to step into the elevator. Andy stepped in behind him, and the doors closed slowly before the elevator descended to the main floor. Andy led Matt past the security door which was already raised, and the nearly-always occupied heavy machine gun positions. He held open the glass door leading to the Command Center, and told Matt to meet Ian in Conference Room 2. Matt walked over to the door, entered and sat down before Ian started the conversation.  
  
"Was there any luck?" he asked as Matt took off his helmet. It was clear that he had done a lot of crying, since his eyes were still puffy and the top of his suit was damp.  
  
"She's gone," he replied as Ian's expression turned to one of shock. "I had to kill her. Umbrella turned her into one of their new weapons, a Nemesis III. They created them to use as infiltrators, and I can give you three guesses as to who would be on the receiving end of one of them. They're about as powerful as a run-of-the-mill Nemesis, but rely mainly on their ability to pass off as human. Obviously because they are human. We encountered two other Nemesis III units up at the facility, with the last one being the strongest of the bunch."  
  
"You're getting ahead of yourself Matt," Ian replied. "First off, who else was up in the facility?"  
  
"Five more people looking for their loved ones. The most notable was our old friend Pierre Dupree. He and I were the only ones to make it out alive. One was infected by a virus, two were killed by the last Nemesis III, and one turned out to be the last Nemesis III. Pierre turned against Umbrella, though I have reason to believe he'll go back, if only for the fact that he'd get bored with being out of the loop. Still, I wouldn't put him as high on the threat board as he was before the incident," Matt replied.  
  
"Noted," Ian said as he motioned for Matt to continue.  
  
"We encountered several of Umbrella's officials in the plant. It turns out that they know my identity; I'm guessing that Tom gave it to them. He wants to see me hurt the most, so I don't think anyone else is at risk. It's strange though; one of them seemed to think that I'd lost a partner in the Middle East. We don't have anyone over there right now, do we?" Matt asked as Ian looked puzzled.  
  
"No. We haven't had anyone over there since your operation in Afghanistan. All of our personnel are accounted for," Ian replied as Matt gave a sigh of relief. "While you were gone, we've had a few big developments. For starters, the President has released us to continue operations against Umbrella. After hearing the information that our bug gathered, he decided that whatever damage they could do to him was less than we could do to them. Also, it seems our friend Mr. Walker has turned up, here in the States no less. I figured that you would want to be one of the first to hear it," he added as Matt leaned forward.  
  
"Where is he?" he asked with a look of anger on his face. Tom Walker had done too much damage to Matt to be allowed to operate freely any longer.  
  
"Maine," Ian replied. "Don't act rashly," he added as Matt stood up.  
  
"He can't be allowed to live," Matt replied grimly as he walked towards the vehicle bay. he was going to get in before he realized that he hadn't slept in over thirty hours. Matt walked to his office instead and kicked off his boots. He had a small couch for situations just like this when he needed somewhere to catch up on lost sleep before going out on another mission.  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
"Hello," a voice called out as Matt looked around. He noticed that he was standing on a familiar street corner. In fact, he realized the corner he was standing on was in the middle of the destroyed city of Shoreline.  
  
"How can I be here?" Matt asked as he looked around. He couldn't see anyone, but the voice seemed to be coming from all directions. "The city was destroyed."  
  
"It's only a dream," the voice went on, "A hidden memory of an event that had occurred, and was altered."  
  
"What are you saying?" Matt asked as he continued to search for the source of the voice.  
  
"That we have met before, Mr. Ryan," a man said, stepping out of the shadows. He was wearing dark brown robes, and his face was completely covered except for his mouth. "Unfortunately, we met in an event that was not supposed to occur. All of your memories of said event were removed, in the hopes of hiding our presence here."  
  
"What do you mean?" Matt asked, hoping to get the mystery man to reveal more. Suddenly a barrage of images flashed past his vision, images of himself and the other SOC Teams from the Shoreline Incident. What was different was that there appeared to be a man who was a hybrid-Tyrant and the man who stood before him now locked in combat. Suddenly, all of his memories of the fight returned, and he smiled as he looked at the man before him.  
  
"I was right John, you did win," Matt replied as John smiled.  
  
"Don't bother telling anyone else about my involvement in Shoreline. They won't be able to remember it. The reason I've come here to talk to you is that I have an offer to make," John said as Matt gave him his full attention.  
  
"I'm listening," Matt said as John nodded.  
  
"As you know, I can't directly interfere in your war with Umbrella unless my government gives me permission to. I need eyes and ears out there on the front lines, so I can tell them what's happening and, if I need to, prepare a case for rallying the troops to come to your aid," John replied.  
  
"You're asking me to report to you about Umbrella?" Matt asked as John nodded again. "Why can't you just watch the battles yourself."  
  
"The incident in Shoreline was a fluke. The only reason I was allowed to be there was that the chain of events for the city had been altered. Now that it's been restored, I'm back to no active intervention status. What I need are the first hand accounts of someone who's going to be encountering Umbrella's new creatures, and will have access to information about their projects," John replied.  
  
"Okay, I've got that part down. What are you going to offer me in return?" he asked.  
  
"Melissa," he replied.  
  
"How? I killed her, not to mention that she was in the facility when it exploded," Matt replied in shock.  
  
"Like I said in Shoreline, I have control over many things, including time. All it takes is altering the path of one bullet, and encouraging the loyalty of your friends, and I can change the past," John replied as he lifted his hood and smiled. His hazel eyes glittered as he waited for Matt to consider his offer.  
  
"I'll do it," he replied as John nodded.  
  
"Excellent choice. Now I believe it's time for you to get back to the war," John said as he began to walk away.  
  
"Thank you," Matt said as John paused for a moment.  
  
"Good luck," he replied with a smile.  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
"How long was I out for?" Matt asked as he looked around his office. His gaze finally settled on the digital clock on his desk, which told him he had been out for close to six hours. Suddenly there was a knock at the door.  
  
"Sir, Ian asked me to tell you that Mark and Paul are coming in along with a third person. He wants you to join him in the medical lab," Gary said, poking his head in the door. Matt pulled his boots back on and laced them up before walking towards the stairs leading down to the medical bay. He arrived just in time to see two people in Hazmat suits rush past, along with two Teams of security personnel. He followed them until he came to the isolation chamber that occupied a corner of the bay. Inside were another two Teams of security troops, and six members of the medical staff.  
  
"Glad you could make it," Mark said as he offered his hand to his friend. "We decided to follow you, and found a tunnel under the facility for emergency trains. While we were exploring it, you'll never guess who we found wandering around."  
  
"Who?" Matt asked, knowing the answer but deciding to play along.  
  
"We found Melissa down there, alive but unconscious. We managed to get her back to base before she woke up. Luckily, the docs were able to get some tranqs into her before she was able to hurt anyone, but we found out kind of quickly just what happened to her," Mark said as he put his hand on Matt's shoulder. "I'm so sorry man."  
  
"It's all right Mark, at least she's alive. That gives us a chance to find an anti-virus. Can I see her?" he asked as Mark nodded.  
  
"She'll be a little out of it with the tranqs, but she can't hurt anyone in her current state. She's still really weak from massive blood loss, but I guess it's okay."  
  
"Thanks a lot man," Matt replied as he entered the isolation chamber. The guards were milling around with their weapons at the ready but not pointed in any one direction, while the doctors gathered around Melissa. "Can I have a minute?" Matt asked after clearing his throat. The head doctor nodded, and motioned for the others to leave.  
  
"We'll be outside if you need us," the head of the security detail said.  
  
"Hello Matt," Melissa said as the door to the chamber closed. "I hoped that I would be able to see you again." Matt looked into her eyes, and saw gray instead of Melissa's blue eye color, which indicated that the Nemesis III was still in control of her.  
  
"And I hoped that I would be able to see you again," Matt replied, not daring to get within an arm's length of her. Even heavily sedated, the Nemesis III was not something to underestimate.  
  
"You know, it's interesting to hear your precious Melissa in here, screaming for help and begging with me. It's a shame that you two couldn't have more time together before I took over completely," it replied. Matt noticed that he no longer thought of the person sitting before him as Melissa, but as the Nemesis III that had taken control of her. Suddenly the creature cried out and began to have seizures which stopped almost as soon as they started.  
  
"It seems you don't know Melissa then. She was always a fighter," Matt said as the Nemesis III regained control for the moment. "It seems the tranqs that we gave you weakened your control over her."  
  
"Only a temporary setback," it replied, as it smiled. "She seemed to be waiting to fight back until the right moment. Very efficient of her to wait until I was weakened to strike. Tactics that a Hunter or Tyrant would use. I admire her for that."  
  
"How can you even begin to compare her to a freak like yourself?" Matt asked as the Nemesis III's face turned bright red.  
  
"How dare you," it began as it suddenly had another seizure. Two members of the medical staff began to enter the room as Matt waved for them to hold on for the moment. "Matt," came a subdued voice.  
  
"I'm here," he replied as he looked into the Nemesis III's eyes. They had changed back to the calm blue of Melissa's, leading him to suspect that eye color was one indicator of who was in control, the Nemesis III or Melissa.  
  
"I don't know how long I'll be able to keep it out," she said, referring to the Nemesis III.  
  
"I'll find a cure. I'm so sorry that this had to happen. I've failed you," Matt said as Melissa interrupted.  
  
"No you haven't. Don't think that even for one second you've failed. I'm still alive, and you're still alive. You'll find a solution; you always do."  
  
"I love you," Matt said as Melissa smiled.  
  
"And I love you too," she replied before entering the same series of spasms that the Nemesis III had only seconds before. "Isn't that sweet," it replied as the eye color changed back to a steel-like gray. "Of course, when one of us in control the other can hear everything that is said and see everything that the other does. Like right now she can hear everything I say and see everything I do. Imagine that, your precious Melissa is a prisoner in her own body."  
  
"Only until I find the anti-virus," Matt replied as he put his game face back on.  
  
"What makes you think there is one?" the creature asked with a sadistic smile. Something that should never have been on Melissa's face.  
  
"Call it a gut instinct. Besides, Umbrella wouldn't make a virus that they don't have a counter to in case there's a high profile incident that requires an anti-virus in a hurry. I'm willing to bet that one exists," Matt replied as he turned to walk towards the door.  
  
"You can't win," the creature said as he paused with the door partly open.  
  
"I won't lose," Matt replied. "Besides, it was the leadership of your company that decided that I was as big a threat to them as an entire S.T.A.R.S. Team. I'm not going to stop until the Umbrella Corporation is rubble beneath my feet. As far as I'm concerned, you're the first piece of debris." With that, he exited the chamber and let the door close behind him, continuing on to the staircase. He climbed up to the command center, and walked down the hallway to the Group 1 locker room and Armory. The locker room was completely empty as Matt began to pick up ammo for his F- 1100 and Desert Eagle, along with several grenades. Once he was ready to go, he swung by his office and picked up his weapons before heading towards the vehicle bay.  
  
"You're going to need help boss," Mark said as he stood with Paul, both of them in their full combat suits and ready for action. "There's a chopper waiting to take us to Tom's last known location in Maine. We aren't going to let you pull a stunt like your solo operation last time. This is a Team, and Teams stick together."  
  
"Let's go then. I want to try and take him alive, especially to see if he knows where to find an anti-virus for whatever bug Melissa has," Matt replied as he held out his fist. "Team?" he asked as Mark and Paul smiled.  
  
"Team," they replied before placing their fists even with his.  
  
"Now let's go take down this two-bit backstabbing traitor of ours," Matt said, as they walked towards the vehicle bay, and the surface. A lot had changed since Umbrella's failed assault almost six months ago. Most of the damage from the helicopter crashes, bullets and grenades had been covered up by new growth and grass, but there were still shell casings turning up once in a while, along with unexploded grenades. Most of them had been policed up immediately after the fighting, but occasionally a new one would be found. Their helicopter hovered over the field and set down as Team 1 walked over and boarded.  
  
"Next stop, Maine," Paul said with a smile as they lifted off to even the score with Tom.  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
Umbrella Incorporated Main Office  
Paris, France  
August 7, 2001 4:00 PM  
  
"Sir, Mr. Walker reports that the attempt to eliminate our most dangerous enemies has failed. The primary targets, Ryan and Dupree, were able to escape. He requests new orders for how to proceed." The aide prepared to duck, knowing what happened to people who gave Spencer bad news. Spencer only laughed, which frightened the aide even more. He couldn't understand how Spencer could be happy after learning that a facility had been lost, and the two primary targets both survived.  
  
"Mr. Dupree is no worry to us. He will be back in our ranks before too long. As for Ryan, the loss of Ms. Jones will prove to shatter him once and for all. He won't pose a threat to us anymore," Spencer replied with a smile.  
  
"Sir," the aide hesitated before continuing, "two more commandos were seen leaving the compound's emergency train tunnels, along with an unidentified female. Her description closely matches that of Ms. Jones, and our intelligence teams are working to confirm whether it is indeed her."  
  
"She will still be infected with our virus. They won't let her live for long. Inform Mr. Walker that he is to take a two day vacation, and report back here for his new orders. His services to this point have been invaluable. Let him consider this a reward for a job well done, but make sure he knows that if he is going to kill anyone he should have the primary targets killed first," Spencer replied as the aide nodded and left. "I salute you Mr. Ryan," Spencer thought out loud, "Surviving our trap, and overcoming your hatered towards Umbrella's top agent. I may have actually underestimated your threat to the company. You should be honored." He took the time to look out his window at the Paris downtown, and all the people on the streets below who had no idea just what sort of experiments the Umbrella Corporation really conducted. "Poor fools," he added as he smiled. Suddenly, there was a knock at his door. His secretary poked her head in the door before Spencer turned around and nodded for her to speak.  
  
"My Lord, there is a Mr. Robins here to see you," Jane said as Spencer smiled.  
  
"So soon?" he asked, more to himself as he motioned for Jane to send him in. The man walked in, and sat in the chair facing Spencer's desk. "Welcome back Mr. Dupree," Spencer continued, with a smile on his face.  
  
"I don't want to have any part in fighting the American commandos," Pierre replied as Spencer smiled. "Nor do I have any real wish to return here. Unfortunately, I underestimated just how far your reach extended. That my brother survived all of these years was quite a surprise, and I thank you for the news. Now please call off your assassin; killing him won't be necessary. As long as he is unharmed I am once again your faithful servant. If anything happens to him, I'll see to it that you burn," he added matter-of-factly.  
  
"Well Mr. Dupree, it seems that we have an agreement. Welcome back to Umbrella," Spencer replied with a smile as he extended his hand. Pierre looked at it as if contemplating, then extended his own hand. Before reaching Spencer's grasp, Pierre pulled his hand back and spat on Spencer.  
  
"Screw you," he said as he got up to leave the room. He slammed the door behind him as Spencer began to laugh.  
  
'Another fool that I've manipulated into doing my bidding,' he thought as he continued laughing. With Dupree taken care of, the only main threat that remained to the company was posed by the American commandos. The S.T.A.R.S. were still too small to launch an effective attack, although several teams had changed their affiliations and bolstered the ranks of the Raccoon survivors, along with a handful of people who survived the disaster in Shoreline. The Board of Directors had met their fate several weeks prior to the first testing of the Nemesis IIIs when the restaurant they were eating in suffered an unfortunate structural failure and was destroyed. Trent had been the only one to survive, after swearing allegiance to Spencer in person. Even though the S.T.A.R.S. were so weak, the American commandos had no such problems striking his facilities on a whim. He had lost at least a half-dozen facilities to them while inflicting zero casualties to their ranks. Most of the losses had come in less than a week, before the American President had suspended their offensive against his company. Yet, it seemed that the President had reconsidered his stance. Maybe the information he was using to blackmail the President wasn't as strong as he once believed.  
  
'Yet just because the commandos were no longer able to attack didn't mean I was immune to threats,' Spencer continued to himself as he again gazed out into the heart of Paris. The S.T.A.R.S. had been able to pick up some of the slack, hitting another eight facilities in the last three months, based primarily, Spencer was sure, from information provided by the commandos. 'Curse those USF agents not being able to finish off Burton.' Yet, he had heard rumors that the loyal USF agents he had dispatched to Shoreline had been sighted supporting the S.T.A.R.S. on their latest assaults. If those rumors were to be believed, then the entire team from Shoreline had gone over to the S.T.A.R.S. That would mean that their numbers would be drastically bolstered, making them a much bigger threat than before. 'What of it?' Spencer asked himself. 'I control the most powerful company in the world, and have weapons stronger than any military on the planet. It's time to start marketing our products.'  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
Location Unknown  
Northern Maine  
August 7, 2001 7:32 PM  
  
"There you are," Matt muttered as he settled the sights of his F-1100 on Tom Walker's head. "If I didn't need you so badly," he continued as he slightly increased pressure on the trigger. He badly wanted to pull it the rest of the way, but knew that Melissa's fate depended on his restraint. Upon discovering that Tom was in a small town in Northern Maine, they had stowed their field gear on the helicopter, and proceeded with only their weapons, and concealed Kevlar vests.  
  
"We're in position and ready to make the grab," Mark called over their radio network as Matt swung the rifle along with Tom as he walked down the street. He caught a glimpse of Mark about twenty feet behind Tom, in a disguise to keep Tom from recognizing him. His hair had been dyed, and Mark was wearing a false beard just to be safe.  
  
"Execute," Matt said as he adjusted his position. He was on top of a two story business, which was one of the tallest buildings in the town. Lying on the roof in the hot sun wasn't his favorite activity by far, but Matt was willing to suffer if only to find the cure for Melissa. Mark picked up his pace slightly, until he was only a few feet from Tom. He bumped into him, pretending it was an accident, then had his Desert Eagle out and pressed against Tom's chest before he could move a muscle. Paul brought their van up to Mark and Tom, before Mark opened the door and pushed him inside. He hit Tom at the base of his skull with the heavy pistol, then closed the door as Paul shifted the van into gear and drove it to Matt's rooftop. He climbed down and jumped in the van before anyone could notice, smiling at the capture. The tide was starting to turn in the war against Umbrella, he felt. Mark patted down Tom as Matt kept his Desert Eagle leveled at him, in case Tom had a trick up his sleeve. Finally, Mark tied his feet and hands together, and Matt relaxed.  
  
"We actually bagged him," Paul said with a hint of amazement in his tone.  
  
"It was way too easy," Matt added before pulling out a portable signal jammer and activating it. He had no way of knowing it, but several hundred miles away two Umbrella technicians were, at that very moment, watching their bug on Tom Walker fade away and be replaced by static.  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
"Welcome home, Mr. Walker," Tom heard as he finally drifted back to consciousness.  
  
"Where am I?" he asked as he looked around. He couldn't see a thing since the room he was in was pitch black. He could only listen to the voice that was questioning him, as his skull pounded from where he had been clubbed.  
  
"SOC Headquarters," the voice replied as Tom uttered a string of curses. Of all the places he was prepared to be at, this took the cake as his worst case scenario. He had truly not expected to be back here, unless the Headquarters had been destroyed and all of his former comrades wiped out or scattered throughout the world. Yet here he was, inside the main facility of the people who he had betrayed.  
  
"What do you want with me?" he asked, as fear finally began to hit him. He honestly was not prepared to die. Of all the outcomes he had foreseen to this war, death was not on the list.  
  
"We know you oversaw the development of the early stages of the Nemesis III project. We also know that there is an anti-virus for your new toy. Tell us how to acquire it and you'll be allowed to live, as well as see your family regularly. We'll even take care of them, and give them your pension, since you're dead to us. You committed treason, not them; therefore they have no reason to suffer. Now, tell us about the anti- virus," the voice commanded. 'So,' Tom thought, 'They managed to rescue Jones. Ryan must be the one interrogating me.'  
  
"Mr. Ryan, I haven't the faintest idea of what you're talking about," Tom replied with a grin, even though he was sure Matt couldn't see it.  
  
"This isn't Matt Ryan," the voice replied, "Hello old friend." Tom suddenly realized why the voice sounded different than who he expected. His interrogator was none other than Ian Williams, the leader of the SOC. "Now, tell us about the anti-virus and our offer will stand." Tom considered this for several minutes, weighing his options carefully. Finally, he made his decision.  
  
"There's a facility that is making our Nemesis II units. It's located in the Ontario province of Canada, and is the only Umbrella plant there. The anti-virus is in a locker on the first sub-basement level, and the password to open the locker is "Vengeance." The yellow vials are the new virus, and the red vials are the anti-virus. I'm sure that you'll want samples of both, to verify what I've told you. Of course, you'll still fail Ian," Tom said as his grin grew. He knew that the facility head would activate the Nemesis II units as soon as the facility was under attack, and that if they were insufficient, there were several lesser Tyrants and Hunters waiting to be released to finish the job, along with another new toy.  
  
"Sir, the S.T.A.R.S. are en route to the facility as we speak. Should we tell them the information Mr. Walker has given us?" an aide asked Ian from behind the plexiglass window.  
  
"Yes. Send them everything we have on the Nemesis II program, and our encounters with the finished units. That won't be the facility's only guard, but they should be the strongest. The S.T.A.R.S. should be able to handle it. Tell Matt that we may have the cure soon, and prepare to receive visitors. Make sure they come here by car, so Umbrella can't track the helicopters. Let's move it people!" he said as the people in the room scrambled to carry out their orders. Ian looked down at their prisoner again and smiled, knowing that a very dangerous player had just been taken out of the game. "Let's see you get out of this Tom," he added.  
  
"Sir, we've reached the S.T.A.R.S. and are transmitting our information now. Would you like to get on the line, sir?" a communications technician asked.  
  
"Let's do it. This is Assistant Director Williams," he said as he put on a headset hooked up to the SOC's radio equipment.  
  
"Chris Redfield, S.T.A.R.S. Captain. Thanks for the information update; we'll put it to good use. Do these Nemesis II units have a known weakness?" Chris asked as an Intel officer handed Ian a folder containing all of the SOC's information about the Nemesis II program.  
  
"Extreme heat and cold. It causes their cellular structure to de- stabilize, preventing their regenerative functions from working," Ian replied as he skimmed the information in the folder. There was even a picture of a Nemesis II floating in a cryogenic tube, which had been acquired by one of the few field missions the President had allowed them to conduct.  
  
"Thanks a lot Director. If we can reach them, we'll get the virus and anti-virus samples for you. No guarantees though; it depends on how much resistance we encounter en route. What do you need this stuff for, if I might ask?" Chris said as Ian debated whether to tell him the truth.  
  
"The fiancée of my best soldier was infected with the virus. We were able to rescue her from Umbrella's research base and keep her sedated until she could be secured in the facility here. He needs you to pull this off," Ian replied as he was met with silence for nearly a minute.  
  
"Tell your man that we'll do our best for him. Barry wanted to know if it was Ryan," Chris added after weighing his options carefully.  
  
"Yes. He's the best we have," Ian replied.  
  
"We won't let him down. I still owe him for saving my life in Shoreline," Barry said as he entered the conversation. "The locker would be right on our way; we could have it in less than five minutes."  
  
"It's your call Barry," Chris said before covering the microphone. Ian could still hear the sounds of twigs breaking, and knew that the S.T.A.R.S. would be arriving at the facility in a matter of moments. "We're going for it," he announced.  
  
"The password for the locker is Vengeance. What else can we do to help?" Ian asked.  
  
"You wouldn't happen to have some people up here ready to go with some heavy weapons, would you?" Chris asked as Ian smiled.  
  
"If only. We only got our authorization to conduct offensive operations back this morning, and I wouldn't be able to get anyone up there unless you held off your attack for a few hours," Ian said with a sigh.  
  
"Which we can't do, or else we risk Umbrella discovering our presence up here. If that happens, we won't be able to get the anti-virus before they destroy it. It's going to be hard enough as it is. We'll do our best though. Redfield out," Chris said before the radio uplink was cut.  
  
"I came as soon as I could," Matt said as he ran into the observation room. He looked like he had just run a marathon to get to Ian. "What did they say?"  
  
"The S.T.A.R.S. are going to make an attempt to get the anti-virus," Ian said as Matt smiled and slumped his shoulders in relief. "They didn't make any promises, since this facility is going to have high-end security systems. We know from Tom that they have Nemesis IIs up there, along with God knows what else. They can't hold off and wait for us to send someone up there, and I couldn't ask them to. They're already risking a lot to take this facility out, considering how heavily it appears to be defended."  
  
"That's all I can ask them to do; to try," Matt said as he looked down at Tom. "How much more do you think we can get out of him?"  
  
"Enough to make some headway," Ian replied with a smile. They had only just begun to tap the information Tom had about Umbrella, but would have plenty of time to get it. He gazed down at their prisoner, wondering what exactly had caused him to turn.  
  
"This would've been a lot easier with him on our side," Matt said, almost regretfully. "He's been responsible for a lot of damage that Umbrella's done in the past few months. With him out of the game, we've got a huge advantage against them. Once Spencer realizes that he's gone, he's going to freak out. We should probably use this opportunity to our advantage and launch a full-scale attack."  
  
"How many facilities have we received confirmed locations for?" Ian asked.  
  
"We have fifteen confirmed, and another four suspected," Matt replied as he caught on to Ian's plan.  
  
"Take the confirmed facilities out of play. I want you and Team 1 to stay here along with our security teams, in case our guest gets rowdy. All other Teams are released to attack," he said as he turned his back on Ian. "Let's kick them while they're down. Full deployment."  
  
"Sir, yes sir!" Matt replied with a smile. Already, most of the people in the observation room had cleared out, heading towards the command center to coordinate the offensive. The support that deploying twenty nine Teams would require would push the SOC's resources to their limits, but the possible benefits were well worth the risks. Taking Spencer's second in command, along with fifteen facilities in such a short time period would send him just the sort of message he needed to hear; that Umbrella wasn't the biggest dog on the block anymore.  
  
"Hope this works out all right," Mark said as he walked into the observation room. "Ian must be really confident if he's clearing out the whole facility."  
  
"Never thought I'd see this in my time here," Paul added. None of them expected a full deployment to ever be used, especially in the SOC's first year of existence.  
  
"If Umbrella attacks while everyone's out, we're screwed," Mark said as he looked down at Tom.  
  
"I don't think they will," Matt replied. "Now let's see what else our former commander has in the way of information. Hello Tom," he continued as he hit the button for the room's intercom.  
  
"Hello Ryan," Tom replied as he looked up, his eyes appearing to fix on the the glass window of the observation room even though the room he was in was pitch black.  
  
"What didn't you tell Ian a few minutes ago?" Matt asked as Tom smiled.  
  
"You have to give me something in return, Ryan," he replied.  
  
"What do you want?" Matt said, knowing he'd actually have to let Tom have something in return for whatever information he was willing to offer.  
  
"A maximum security prison. I don't want to rot away in the SOC Headquarters while all of you gloat over me," Tom said, knowing that he'd get it.  
  
"I'll see what I can do, but Ian has the final call. Now tell me what you didn't tell Ian," Matt said.  
  
"Only that a prototype for our new Alpha program is up there too. By the time the S.T.A.R.S. find out, it'll be too late. It's programed to kill them all, and is more than capable of doing it," Tom said as he stiffled a laugh.  
  
"What is the Alpha program?" Matt asked.  
  
"Umbrella's new weapons program, designed to improve our existing weapons platforms, and create the next-generation of creatures to supply our customers with," Tom said.  
  
"What's the creature there, a new one or improved?" Matt asked. Tom just stared back, not replying. "Answer me, which is it?"  
  
"I'm not privy to that information, Mr. Ryan. Now, be sure to hold up your end of the deal," Tom said as Matt slammed the wall in frustration.  
  
"He knows. They just perfected their Nemesis IIIs, and now they've gotten themselves into a new program?" Matt asked himself. "Why did they start a new program after only finishing the testing on the Nemesis IIIs?" he asked Tom, hoping for a response. Tom only sat there, giving nothing else to Matt. "We need to get a hold of the S.T.A.R.S. right now."  
  
"Here," Mark said as he handed Matt the headset Ian had used only moments prior.  
  
"This is Matt Ryan, calling any members of the S.T.A.R.S. Please respond, over."  
  
"What do you need Matt?" Barry asked over the channel.  
  
"After further interrogation, our prisoner revealed that in addition to the Nemesis IIs and whatever other defenses the facility has, it's home to a prototype from something called the Alpha program. It's either a completely undocumented creature, or one that has been enhanced. Be advised, we have no idea what its capabilities will be, but our prisoner thinks rather highly of it," Matt said as Barry went silent.  
  
"He won't give you any more information about it, will he?" Barry asked.  
  
"No Barry. He's playing games with us, and knows just how we operate. I'm afraid the warning is all I can do for you. Be on your guard," Matt answered as he looked at Tom again. He was sitting there smugly knowing that he was safe as long as he kept some information secret.  
  
"We'll be careful. Tell your prisoner thanks for the heads up. We'll be there in person soon," Barry said before shutting off their radio. They would be out of reach from this point on, meaning anything else that Matt might learn wouldn't be able to reach them.  
  
"I guess all we can do now is sit back and wait," Mark said as he pulled out a few chairs. All three of them sat down, listening for the S.T.A.R.S. to come back on the air. After a half hour, they hadn't heard anything. Paul went to find some drinks for them, while Matt silently prayed both for the safety of the S.T.A.R.S. and that they would be successful. They waited for another twenty minutes, before Matt stood up and began to pace in front of the radio.  
  
"No news is good news Matt," Paul commented as Matt stopped.  
  
"I know, but this waiting is tearing me up inside. If they can't get the anti-virus and some of them get hurt or killed looking for it, I don't know if I'll be able to forgive myself. It'll be even worse if there wasn't anything there to begin with, and Tom was just pushing my buttons," he replied before going back to pacing.  
  
"They were going to hit this facility anyway, Matt. You might've saved some of their lives by letting them know what they would be facing. We've at least given them a fighting chance," Mark said as Matt nodded.  
  
"You're right. I just hate having this be out of my control. Waiting around while everyone else but the security teams are out hitting back against Umbrella really sucks." Suddenly, the radio crackled as a voice struggled to cut through the static.  
  
"Hello?" Matt asked as he leapt for the headset.  
  
"T**s *s B**ry," came the voice. The static seemed to be clearing up over time, so Matt came to the conclusion that they were heading outside. "W* man**ed to set off the self-destruct of the facility," he went on as the static finally disappeared from the line. "It'll be going up any minute now."  
  
"Are all of you okay? Did you find the anti-virus?" Matt asked.  
  
"We took a few injuries, but we're all alive. We found their Alpha, and it was a nasty fight. It was some sort of enhanced Tyrant. Leon managed to get to the locker while we held it off, and got a few vials of the virus and anti-virus. We'll be there in less than twelve hours," he said as Matt sighed in relief.  
  
"What about the Alpha? How was it enhanced, or what was it like?" he went on after gathering his thoughts.  
  
"It was a lot smarter than anything we've ever encountered, not to mention stronger and faster. These things are really tough customers. We'll tell you more once we arrive. See you soon," Barry said as he turned their radio off again. Matt took off the headset, and looked in at Tom again.  
  
"You failed," he spoke into the intercom's speaker before leaving the room.  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
Somewhere in Eastern Kansas  
Convoy for Maximum Security Prisoners  
August 17, 2001 5:00 PM  
  
"This is Escort Lead, we've got some sort of obstruction in the road up ahead. Looks like a downed electrical line," the first car called in as the convoy rolled to a stop.  
  
"How do you advise we continue?" the driver of the bus containing the convoy's prisoners asked.  
  
"Let's back up and take the first exit we get to. We can swing South and take a detour. It'll cost us fifteen minutes, at the most," the lead car's driver replied as his passenger checked a map.  
  
"I've got a bad feeling about this," one of the guards called in.  
  
"I agree; keep your weapons close by. If this was deliberate, we may need to fight our way out of here," the convoy's leader said as he picked up his shotgun and held it in a tight grip. He also had a bad feeling about the downed power line, which seemed to be too coincidental to him.  
  
"There's something blocking the path behind us too. It's bloody huge," the rear car's driver said over the radio. "What the? It's alive!" he yelled before the car exploded.  
  
"Everybody out!" the leader called out as he dove out of his black SUV seconds before it too exploded. He looked around, trying to find out where their attackers were, but all he saw was the creature blocking their exit. It easily cleared ten feet, and looked like something he did not want to screw with. He was jerked back to reality when he saw a dog sinking its teeth into his arm. He yelped and jumped back before firing his shotgun into its face. He looked around, and saw that in less than a minute, all of the others were dead. Even the guards for the bus had been killed, without a fight it seemed. He heard a crunching sound, and looked up to see the barrel of a revolver hovering above his head.  
  
"I'm sorry," the man said before pulling the trigger, and ensuring the guard wouldn't have to suffer as a member of the living dead. The creatures that carried out the assault sat by obediently as several other armed men checked the bodies of the guards, taking the guards' weapons and putting bullets into their brains to ensure they wouldn't return as undead.  
  
"The objective is secure," one of the men said as he led a man with a hood over his head out of the bus and into the road. A helicopter roared by overhead, with the Umbrella insignia emblazoned underneath it.  
  
"Mr. Dupree, I'm glad you were able to make it," Tom said as his handcuffs and leg cuffs were removed. He rubbed his wrists, and offered his hand to the agent.  
  
"You think that I am? The only reason that I'm here is that Spencer ordered me to free you. He obviously thinks that you still have some use to the company. Of course, having an assassin ready to eliminate my brother also played a part in my decision to rescue you," Pierre replied as he wiped some blood off of the barrel of his magnum. "I've done my fair share of Spencer's dirty work, but that never involved murdering innocent people to save a fool."  
  
"You should lighten up a bit Pierre. Some people might not appreciate that attitude of yours," Tom replied as he withdrew his hand. "Let's get out of here before someone comes looking, shall we?"  
  
"I have no wish to remain here. Head to your rendevous point," Pierre said as the creatures that took part in the assault began to walk towards the south.  
  
"I see that the Alphas have been perfected," Tom said as he looked on in admiration.  
  
"Hardly. Spencer has arranged for a test in a few months, to see if they're ready to be deployed. We'll know for sure then," Pierre replied as the helicopter that had just flown overhead made another pass, and began to set down. The USF agents escorted Tom on to the helicopter, while Pierre jumped on last. The bus containing the prisoners exploded in a ball of flames as one of the agents detonated the explosives he had set, knowing that they could leave no living witnesses. 'Killing off the competition is one thing, but attacking a prisoner's convoy?' Pierre thought to himself. 'Spencer truly is a madman. Maybe I should've taken Matt Ryan up on his offer.'  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
"You're kidding me," Matt said as he listened to the news coming in over the radio. Tom's convoy had been found, completely destroyed. There was nothing left but destroyed vehicles and bodies.  
  
"They got him out, I suppose," Ian said as he looked on, deep in thought. "But how did they do it? That seems to be the million dollar question. We've got us a whole new ball game," he continued as Matt nodded.  
  
"Now we just have to figure out who's ahead."  
  
"Sir, two packages just came in from Langley," an aide said as he handed the parcels to Ian.  
  
"It isn't my birthday, or Christmas," he said to himself as he opened the first, a manila envelope that had been postmarked the day before. "Well well," he went on as he scanned the letter and computer printout that came with it.  
  
"What is it?" Matt asked.  
  
"It seems that we're getting a new asset," Ian said as he handed the makeshift dossier over to him. He scanned the file over before nodding once, approvingly.  
  
"Just the sort of person we'll need. When will she get here?" Matt asked.  
  
"Around 5:30 tomorrow afternoon," Ian replied. "I've never been partial to assassins, but I'm not going to be picky. An asset is an asset, and we'll need everyone that we can get our hands on. This one's for you," he went on, handing Matt the second envelope. He opened it, before taking out a piece of paper along with a map of a small island.  
  
"Well I'll be. Pierre Dupree strikes again," he said as he smiled. "It seems Umbrella's going to have a final field test for their new Alphas on this island. Pierre was kind enough to give us the date of the trials, and the island's location. It looks like they're going to recruit soldiers to use for their combat data. This might help out too." Matt reached into the envelope and pulled out a false ID badge and military background. "We could get one of our people onto the island, and sabotage the test. At the very least, we can learn some more about Umbrella's new toys."  
  
"It looks like we have a few months until the test starts. I'm going to ask Sam Reynolds if he wants the assignment," Ian said after Matt passed him the message. "You're too well known to Umbrella, but they haven't got any information about Sam at all."  
  
"I have to agree with you. I'm too obvious to send, and Sam's got what it takes to pull the mission off. I'm going to suggest that we have his Team, and another sitting offshore as back-up in case he needs it," Matt said.  
  
"Consider it done. We'll at least have some time to plan out the operation with Sam, and brief him in on what to expect. I'll start getting the basic plan set up. You go on home; you've been working harder on this operation than anyone else in the SOC," Ian said as Matt gave a weak smile. It had been true, in the last eight months he had almost lived at the Headquarters. "I'm ordering you to spend some time with Melissa. Now get out of here," he said as Matt put up his hands in mock surrender.  
  
"I can't believe it's been a week," he said to himself as he walked out of the command center. It had been touch and go for a while, but finally the anti-virus was able to eradicate the Nemesis III that infested Melissa. He smiled at the memory of when she first woke up. She was one of the main reasons why he was fighting, and he was eternally grateful to have her back. "Time to hold up my end of the deal."  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
Author's Notes: And we have number nine, ladies and gentlemen. It's been a pleasure to write for you all thus far, and I'm really looking forward to O: FS 2K2. On the other hand, school has obviously slowed down the progress of this chapter, along with some unforseen time spent away from home. So much stuff has been going on, that this chapter sat with about 5,000 words done for several days with no progress made. If there are any typos, I'm sorry, but I've shifted my base of operations from our new Dell to the 10 year old computer in my room, and it's spell checker is a bit less-advanced (it won't underline spelling errors, etc.) than what I'm used to. On the other hand, I can now write later at night than before (I'm finishing this up at about 10:00 on Thursday the 28th, and doing a final proof reading on the 31st at 8: 15) and not have to worry as much about disturbing people (listening to music helps me write, this chapter's music award goes to The Best of Bond and the MechCommander 2 soundtrack) while I write. On to the really important stuff.  
  
I'm still accepting characters, as our new assassin, from Bryan, demonstrates. She'll make her proper appearance next chapter, which you'll read more about in a few lines. I'm also proud to announce that work will soon begin on my O: FS side story, The Fall of Umbrella. Between the characters from The Battle of Shoreline, some reader-submitted characters, and the new S.T.A.R.S. members (from the other cities, like in S.D. Perry's RE novels), I should have enough to make it interesting. I'm going to stick to my guns, and only have the main S.T.A.R.S. (Chris, Barry, Jill, Rebecca, etc.) appear only as supporting-characters (honestly, they've been written about so much that they're starting to get worn out. I like telling my stories with fresh faces, and this one's going to have a bunch.). It'll be up soon, I promise. I intend to have both O: FS and TFoU (I already have an abbreviation for it, you can tell it's coming soon!) complement each other, and continue the O: FS universe until its end. In other words, the stuff that didn't make it into this chapter (like the results of the SOC's blitz) has been saved to go into TFoU's first chapter. Without further commercial interruption, everyone's favorite part of the chapter, the Coming Attractions!  
  
Next Chapter: The SOC's new member is introduced, as Spencer rips Tom a new one after his return to Paris. A plan to infiltrate Umbrella's test site for their Alphas begins to develop as a shipment of prototype weapons arrives. Ian heads to Washington to present all of the SOC's accumulated evidence to the President, with the intention of convincing him to commit all of the United State's military against Umbrella's threat. Will he succeed? Tune into Operation: Falling S.T.A.R.S. Chapter Ten: Aftershocks.  
  
TFoU: Basic introduction, overview of the survivors from The Battle of Shoreline (umbrella-inc.com), what's happened since TBoS, some more technical updates. The action will really pick up with Chapter 2, which is going to feature the attack on Umbrella's Ontario plant. They'll be up sometime soon (I'll try my best, but school's put a major crimp into my writing time, at least until I get settled back into my school routine. I also can't spend 1+ hours per night writing anymore, so progress has been much slower, except on weekends). Until next time people! 


	10. Aftershocks

Disclaimer: Resident Evil and everything associated with it is owned by Capcom. All submitted characters are owned by their creators, and appear in this story with the written permission of said creators. Anything that I create for the purpose of enhancing the quality of this story in order to draw in more readers and reviews is owned completely, entirely, 100% by me (unless otherwise stated). Any similarities between anything in this work and actual people, events, government organizations, and evil corporations is strictly unintentional. Now on with the show.  
  
Apologies: To Rhys D. He was the one who contributed the SOC's new assassin, as well as our new villaness, not Brian. Thanks again for the characters, and for being so kind as to point out areas in my fic that I needed to develop/clarify a little bit more. I'd also like to apologize for the way I introduced Serena; I think I could've done a much better job of it. She'll get an improved role in chapter 11. I didn't like her original intro that I had at all, changed it, saw the new one wasn't much better, and stopped caring. Chapter 10 sat on my PC finished except for about 150 words for three days (when I was helping to make the deck for our garage, at the football game, etc.), and at this point I just want it up. Next chapter will be better, I promise.  
  
Author's Notes: Sorry about the long wait between chapters. School work, contrary to my expectations, hasn't settled down very much. I've also had Hurricane Isabel (we were one of less than 1/2 dozen local schools to stay open through it!) football games with the band, and a load of other activities cutting down on my writing time. This offered me two options (other than not writing any more, which would probably make me as upset as everyone else), to either drastically cut the size of my chapters, or slow down my writing and take more of a binge typing approach (late night and on the weekends). As you can tell I've gone for the latter, since I don't think it's fair to all of you if I started skimping on even more details than I have already. Enough of me talking about a load of crap. You've waited long enough for number 10, and here it is.  
  
Operation Falling S.T.A.R.S.  
  
Chapter 10: Aftershocks  
  
Location unknown  
August 17, 2001 11:15 PM  
  
"No?"  
  
"I'm sorry," John said as Matt looked disappointedly towards him.  
  
"Why John?" Matt asked as John looked down at the ground, avoiding Matt's gaze. He waited for almost a half minute before answering.  
  
"After hearing about the Nemesis IIIs, I believed I had enough information to go to my people with. We've been debating whether to aid you for almost two months, but unfortunately some unexpected events occurred that we weren't prepared for."  
  
"Such as?" Matt asked, anxious to hear what was important enough to remove an ally from the war against Umbrella.  
  
"Right now we're fighting an intergalactic two front war. Seventy two hours ago we were blindsided by some nasties from out of town. Came right up through the western spiral arm of the galaxy and started nailing our territory. We've been able to slow them down, but they have a huge beachhead on our turf. Three fourths of our entire military is operating against them as we speak. I would be with them, except we needed someone familiar with Earth to stay here and monitor the Umbrella situation. To top that off, our rival in this galaxy decided to launch a full offensive against us as well. We're caught in between both of them, but we're fighting them to a stalemate. I did my best, but we have no one to spare. We can't take on a third conflict now Matt. I'm being restricted to what I can do as well. One misstep, no matter how slight, could result in disaster for Earth. It's something that we just can't risk."  
  
"Okay. I also want to tell you that Umbrella's developing another new series of bioweapons, called the Alpha Project. They're going to enhance the intelligence of their existing creatures, and create a new line of monsters," Matt said as John nodded.  
  
"If things continue on the way they are now, I might be able to get some help here soon. In the mean time, I want to wish you luck," he replied.  
  
"Thanks. Here's hoping we win," Matt said as he turned to walk away.  
  
"Matt," John said before hesitating. Matt stopped walking as he waited for John to continue. "Keep your head down."  
  
"I will," Matt said as the dreamlike conversation ended, and Matt woke up. He checked his alarm clock, and noticed that it was almost six in the morning. Melissa had already gotten up, and had wanted to make a trip out to the local supermarket early before heavy traffic appeared on the roads. He got cleaned up, pulled on some fresh clothes, and headed towards his truck. "I wonder what sort of fun activities today's going to bring," he muttered to himself as he started the engine and pulled out. It was just another day in the struggle against Umbrella.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Umbrella Incorporated Main Office  
Paris, France  
August 17, 2001 11:31 PM  
  
"Mr. Walker, welcome back. You gave all of us quite a scare," Andrew Spencer said as Tom walked in to his office. Tom sat down in the seat facing Spencer's desk and waited for the screaming to begin. The door to the office swung shut, but Spencer remained motionless, as if contemplating his possible actions.  
  
"You realize that you've ruined me," Spencer said as he leaned backward in his chair.  
  
"How so?" Tom asked. "I didn't give them anything."  
  
"Didn't you? Some of my more loyal employees were able to escape from Ontario, and told me a very interesting story. I've wondered since you were captured, how was it possible that the S.T.A.R.S. knew about not only our Alpha at the facility, but also the Nemesis III vaccines and the other defenses we had set up for them?" Spencer asked as he drummed his fingers on the arm of his office chair, waiting for Tom's response.  
  
Tom knew that he had to be very careful. Making a single mistake would end up in his death, or worse. "The SOC interrogated me, and claimed to have information from someone inside the facility that was selling information to the highest bidder. They already knew about the Nemesis III vaccines, at least from what they asked me about them. I didn't tell them anything," he lied, hoping it would be good enough.  
  
"We did happen to find someone who's loyalties were questionable, but we were unable to get any condemning information out of him before he had a fatal heart attack. It would seem that the Americans were able to acquire their information through this man, and managed to pass it on to the S.T.A.R.S. before they attacked. Your return to this corporation, however, is not nearly so simple as pointing fingers in the right direction. I've been contacted by several parties who are interested in buying our 'special' products, but we have a problem that needs to be dealt with; the SOC. I'm tired of their meddling in my business. I have a plan to take them out, but I need you to provide me all of the information that you possibly can about them. We'll consider it a down payment on your debt to me," Spencer said as Tom gave a sigh of relief on the inside.  
  
"Of course my Lord. It would be my pleasure to be of assistance to you. What specifically would you like to know?" Tom replied as Spencer smiled.  
  
"Their equipment intrigues me. Where does it come from? It's much more advanced than I expected them to have, even though the Americans are in love with their technological superiority above the rest of the world," he asked.  
  
"They get their equipment from many different sources, but DefTek Industries is the primary supplier. They're a small defense contractor that's famous for making high-quality armaments for the government. Many of the U.S. military's next generation weapons and equipment will be made by them," Tom replied before continuing, "What are you going to use the information for?"  
  
"Not yet, Mr. Walker. After I have all of the information I want, you'll find out, I promise. Now, what about funding?" Spencer said, brushing off Tom's question.  
  
"Again, they get funded from many sources, including some that I'm not privy to. I do know they get money from the CIA, as well as the Defense Department." Tom said as he began to catch on to what Spencer's plan was. "What else would you like to know my Lord?"  
  
"Everything. Personnel, addresses, mission histories, people who know it exists, whatever you know I want to," Spencer said as he patted a tape recorder with his hand.  
  
"Might I say, you have an excellent plan Lord Spencer. The SOC will never expect you to do this. They won't dare attempt to bother us again," Tom said as he smiled, though not for the reasons Spencer thought. 'This very well might lead to Spencer's destruction,' he thought. "Now, where was I? The SOC is headed by Assistant Director Ian Williams, who has quite a bit of power in Washington. You already know that Matt Ryan has been appointed to the position I once held of Group 1 commander, and I suspect that Ian has also named him the acting field commander for the unit. I can't recall the names of any other Group commanders, nor do I remember actually meeting any of them. It seemed that none of the SOC commandos liked me very much. They didn't have much of a mission history before coming after us; they mostly did some light work on the ground in Afghanistan, and some consultations for anti-terrorist organizations in friendly countries. You'll like hearing this though. Both Presidents Clinton and Bush were cleared to receive reports about the organization, along with key members of Congress, the Department of Defense, CIA, and DefTek Industries. That's about all for a general description; even I wasn't cleared into everything."  
  
"Trust me Mr. Walker, it will be more than satisfactory. Welcome back to the Umbrella Corporation. You have not only redeemed yourself, but impressed me. Now I must see what the best way to implement this plan will be. You are dismissed," Spencer said as Tom left the office as quickly as he could. He knew that things were about to get very bad, and didn't want to be around when Spencer's plan went into motion.  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
SOC Headquarters  
August 18, 2001 9:30 AM  
  
"Anything happen while I was away?" Matt asked jokingly as several people in the room smiled. Everyone had heard of the ordeal he had gone through, and were encouraged by it. If Matt could remain optimistic even while enduring so much suffering, then they wouldn't give up hope even though they were greatly outnumbered by Umbrella.  
  
"No sir," one of them replied. "Ian is en route to Washington as we speak, to talk to the President about getting the military involved against Umbrella. Our guest from DefTek hasn't arrived yet, nor has our new recruit. That's about it for the important stuff."  
  
"Thanks George," Matt replied as he walked towards his office, hoping for another calm day.  
  
"Sir," George called out before Matt could leave the command center, "We've received a transmission from the DefTek representative. He'll be arriving momentarily with the prototypes."  
  
"Thanks again. Let's go see what Santa's brought for all of the good boys and girls fighting the evils created by the Umbrella Corporation. Clear out the firing range, and have Mark and Paul meet me in the vehicle bay," Matt said as he began to jog towards the bay himself. Right after he arrived, a small truck pulled into the bay, along with a second truck moments later. Both had already been scanned with thermal sensors and cleared by the guards at the security checkpoint, but two security teams were still on hand, along with people Matt couldn't see, he was sure.  
  
"Mr. Ryan, it's a pleasure as always," a man in a dark gray suit said as he walked towards Matt with his hand extended.  
  
"Mr. Westings, I'm glad to do business with you as always. Please, follow me to the firing range," Matt replied as he shook Westing's hand, and motioned towards the freight elevator in the back of the bay. Several technicians began wheeling hand trucks over to the trucks, before Westings interrupted them.  
  
"Please, leave the two large crates in the trucks. They're to stay here until we're finished," he said as the technicians nodded.  
  
"No time like the present," Matt suggested as Mark and Paul entered the bay.  
  
"Okay then, we'll start with the big stuff. When Ian contacted me and said that you would be in the market for base defenses, I started my people developing something for you right away. These," he said as he opened the lids to the two crates, "are Specter 20mm cannons. They have a firing rate of about 1,200 rounds per minute, and can be controlled either by an operator at a remote location, or by an internal Identify Friend or Foe computer. As you know, our recent advances in microchip technology have allowed us to create an IFF system that is able to recognize friendly and enemy vehicles, along with personnel. Perfect to place in your roof, or the side walls to the vehicle bay. These models can even be concealed inside the walls and flip out at the push of a button. Now let's continue to the firing range, where I can show off some of our infantry weapons for you," Westings said as Matt smiled. The 20mm cannons would be a very helpful addition to the bay's defenses.  
  
"Now believe me when I say that we're going to give you as much in the way of funding as we can," Matt said. "Thus far, this joint business venture has been profitable for both of us, and we would very much like to see it continue into the foreseeable future." They walked onto the elevator, which descended as soon as all of the equipment was onboard.  
  
"It has been our pleasure to develop weapons and equipment that are going to help save American lives in the future. Any other benefits are strictly extras as far as we're concerned," Westings replied as Matt smiled. He knew that unlike some businesses, DefTek really did have the best interests of their customers, specifically the SOC at this point in time but most likely the entire U.S. military in the near future, at heart. They had bent over backwards to accommodate the SOC's requests, and had nearly gone bankrupt to do so.  
  
"Let's see what we have today," Matt said as the elevator stopped and the doors opened. Everyone walked out into the firing range as the technicians unloaded the crates from the handtruck.  
  
"Let's start off with the fun stuff," Westings said as he opened a large rectangular crate, and pulled out a hard plastic case. "When Ian asked us for portable anti-tank weaponry that wouldn't have to be reloaded immediately, we didn't think it could be done. Believe it or not, the inspiration for this weapon actually came from the movies. This is the Archangel," he added pulling a fairly large rifle out of the plastic case.  
  
"It doesn't look like much to me," Mark said.  
  
"And that would be the last thing the commander of a T-90 tank would say before getting knocked into the afterlife. This isn't just any old 5.56 or 7.62mm rifle my friends. This is a man-portable rail gun," Westings replied as Matt whistled. He took the railgun that Westings handed him, and gave it the once over. Even though it was fairly long, the gun was remarkably light.  
  
"Does it have a magazine? What about noise levels? And rate of fire," he continued as he checked the weapon's sights with a precision that had taken years to develop.  
  
"The magazine snaps into the top of the rifle here," Westings said as he pulled a clip out from the case and pushed it down through a slot in the top. "It fires aluminum slugs at a hypersonic velocity, and the internal magazine can hold eight shots before it needs to be reloaded. Its rate of fire is sixteen rounds per minute, give or take, depending on how fast you can reload and shoot. The problem is that the capacitors for the magnetic accelerator will overheat if the weapon is fired too often in a short period of time. Now, I know you're going to ask how it's powered, since the energy needed to generate a magnetic field strong enough to propel even this small slug at the speeds I mentioned would be incredibly high. It has an internal hydrogen fuel cell, which provides enough power to get off three or four shots by itself. The aluminum slug generates a massive amount of electricity as it travels down the barrel, which is absorbed and channeled into an internal Lithium battery, which is recharged after each shot. Of course, if one is handy, you can plug it into a wall outlet, but the charge-up time is much higher than just shooting it. Allow me to demonstrate," he continued as he walked over to one of the stations at the firing range. "This will also answer your question about the noise." He pointed the railgun downrange, towards a thick slab of steel that had been set up to test armor-piercing bullets. "I hope you don't have anything irreplaceable on the other side of that steel," Westings muttered as he slowly squeezed the trigger. Matt heard a slight whistling sound accompanying dozens of teal-colored rings which followed right behind the slug. "Let's see how she did," Westings said as he placed the railgun back in the crate and walked down towards the steel.  
  
"We'll take it," Matt said once he arrived. The eight inch slab of steel had been completely penetrated by the aluminum slug, which maintained enough energy to continue down the range through a second six inch thick steel target, before lodging itself halfway through a third six inch thick target. "What else do you have, Mr. Westings?" Matt asked.  
  
"A few different variations of grenades, some new body armor prototypes, and two new rifles," he replied. They walked back to the firing line, and Westings opened up another crate. "This is the F-1100 CIR, or Composite Infantry Rifle. We made several improvements to the original F- 1100 design, including an internal silencer for the 7.62mm section. We also attached a scope to the top, so you won't have to make do with modified rifles for the time being. We also upgraded the shotgun to accept magnum rounds. The second rifle is a bit nicer, in my opinion. This is the Mark 12 Special Operations Rifle. It's chambered in 7.62mm by default, just like the regular F-1100, but that's about where the similarities end. It has a modular rail on the bottom of the rifle, which is normally equipped with a 40mm grenade launcher. It can also fit a flare launcher, or a 20mm cannon like the Army's new SABR rifle. It's much lighter though, comes with an infrared scope and silencer, and has a folding stock which allows it to be fired like a submachine gun," Westings added.  
  
"What do you mean by chambered in 7.62mm in default?" Matt asked as Westings smiled.  
  
"Don't ask me how, I'm not even sure about the science behind it, but this rifle incorporates the first ever Universal barrel. What I mean to say is that it's capable of firing any bullet ranging from 9mm up to 7.62mm rounds, and silenced to boot. We've already got a crash manufacturing program for these babies, but the Universal barrel is rather hard to manufacture. We have six SORs ready for delivery today, and another two dozen CIRs. We have two Archangels as well, but we'd like it if they were a little more tested before being deployed in the field. Now let's get to the grenades and equipment. This is an enhanced version of your current Class IV vest. It has an additional magazine pouch allowing you to take two more 7.62mm clips and another shotgun magazine into the field, and also has a few more equipment pouches for whatever they may be needed for. We managed to shave a half pound off the vest's weight, while increasing the protection it provides. There's a new Kevlar pad that covers a bit more of the lower neck, giving it some overlap with your helmet," he said as Matt smiled this time.  
  
"How about grenades?" he asked.  
  
"We have a few different types, including an enhanced incendiary grenade which burns for about twice as long, and a liquid nitrogen grenade. We kicked around your request for white phosphorous, but I'm not too sure that we can do that for you," Westings said.  
  
"I can understand about that. Still, they've been pretty effective against our chief opponents. We'd appreciate it if you could put some more thought into that for us," Matt replied.  
  
"As I said before, it's a pleasure to do business with you. Do you know offhand when to expect Mr. Williams to return?" Westings asked.  
  
"Sometime this afternoon," Matt replied.  
  
"I suppose we can wait to negotiate the contract for these weapons," Westings said as he smirked, guessing they would be put into use immediately.  
  
"I've been authorized to negotiate as well if you want," Matt replied.  
  
"Why don't we just call these a free test and if you like them we'll talk," Westings said.  
  
"Colonel Ryan, would you please report to the command center," someone asked over the facility's intercom.  
  
"Please excuse me Mr. Westings. Mark, Paul, would you please escort Mr. Westings to his car?" Matt asked as he jogged towards the personnel elevator at the other end of the firing range. He took the elevator up to the main floor, and walked the short distance to the command center. "What's the problem Larry?" he asked as he noticed what was playing on the television. "No way."  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
The White House  
Washington D.C., Maryland  
August 18, 2001 10:33 AM  
  
"The President will see you now," the secretary said as Ian Williams smiled.  
  
"Thank you very much," he replied as he made sure his identification badge was visible. He walked down the familiar hall before coming to the door to the Oval Office, and stopping outside. He knocked twice before the door opened.  
  
"Ian, I'm glad to see you here. And right on time, as always. Please, come in," President Bush said as he motioned for him to enter. "I know this is going to be about Umbrella, so let's get down to business. Do you really have all of the proof that you say you do?"  
  
"All of that and more sir. Our bug has been transmitting everything that's been said in Spencer's office since this conflict was in its opening days. We had to change the batteries a few times, but we don't believe it has been detected yet," Ian replied as Bush sighed.  
  
"That's good. And what about that leak to the New York Times about what really happened in Shoreline? Has it been plugged?" he asked.  
  
"One of our special assets made sure of it. The won't be anymore information coming out of the NSA and finding its way into Spencer's hands. You know that isn't what I'm here for though," Ian said.  
  
"What is it that you want then Ian?" Bush asked.  
  
"I'd like to ask that you consider deploying the balance of the U.S. military in operations against Umbrella. Our skirmishes with them are all well and good, but the SOC, even with the S.T.A.R.S. helping us, doesn't have the firepower to take out the company in either a timely manner, or one in which we could avoid pushing Spencer over the edge," Ian answered. "And Umbrella's main office is too heavily-defended for us to be able to take over successfully with acceptable casualties."  
  
"Deploy the U.S. military against a pharmaceutical company? That isn't going to look good with the public. I don't even think that we'd be able to take out all of their facilities, especially if they're in countries that want them there. But on the other hand, if we leave even one of them intact, it's possible that they would be able to retaliate with their viruses against us. We can't bomb them, because if their viruses or any of these creatures escape it'd be the same as having a viral outbreak, and we can't go around nuking every Umbrella facility throughout the world, especially if they're in friendly countries. I don't know how much I'll be able to help you Ian," Bush said as he sat down in his office chair.  
  
"If you could do anything at all to help us, it would be appreciated," Ian said as he sat down it the chair opposite Bush's.  
  
"I might be able to bolster your ranks. If I lump the Navy SEALS, Delta, the Air Force's 160th squadron, and the Army Rangers into your command, it might help you. I'm afraid that's all I can do for now," Bush said as there was a knock at the door. "Yes?" he asked as the door opened slightly.  
  
"Sir, you might want to put on CNN. You're going to want to see what they have on," an aide said as Bush walked over to a TV set up in the opposite end of the room. He turned it on, and looked on in shock at what was on the screen.  
  
"For those of you just joining us, we received information earlier this morning from an anonymous source concerning the U.S. government's involvement with a known terrorist organization. Contrary to the current administration's policy of not negotiating with terrorists, this several hundred page document that was delivered to CNN's headquarters in Atlanta, shows that the government actually sponsored a domestic terrorist organization. This organization is a renegade faction of the national S.T.A.R.S. unit, which has seen several embarrassments in the past few years, including a half-dozen teams that defected to join the renegades. It is believed that this information was recovered very early this morning by security forces belonging to the Umbrella Corporation in the aftermath of an attack against a cancer research center by the renegade S.T.A.R.S. Wait, I'm just being handed an update. My God, this is disturbing. We have just completed the analysis of another section of the documents dropped off at our headquarters, which reveals something more disturbing than the Bush Administration's protection of the S.T.A.R.S. It seems that there is a top secret branch of the Central Intelligence Agency which has been directly responsible for collaborating with the S.T.A.R.S. in actions against the American public, including the destruction of Shoreline. I'm sorry," the announcer said, "But I can't continue to read this report. I had a cousin in Shoreline at the time, and I can't believe that the person I voted for President had a hand in its destruction."  
  
"Mr. President, we need to answer this. I have a copy of our bug's intercepts with me right now. This could be our chance to blow Spencer right out of the water," Ian said as he opened up his briefcase, to make sure the video tapes were still there. He popped the first one he grabbed into the VCR under Bush's TV, and watched for several minutes before arriving at the place he felt the American people would most like to see.  
  
"Let's do it. The media is already going to be on its way, so let's turn this against Umbrella. I hope this doesn't push Spencer over the edge," Bush replied as he began walking towards the press center. Ian followed him, and saw almost a half dozen TV cameras already set up.  
  
"Ladies and Gentlemen, the President of the United States," his Press Secretary said as the two dozen reporters in the room stood up and began shouting questions before he even took the podium.  
  
"Good morning," Bush said. "Before you ask any questions, please hear me out. Almost a year ago my predecessor, President Clinton, was approached by the Deputy Director of Operations for the Central Intelligence Agency about the need to train a next generation of field agents for the CIA. This idea eventually developed into Special Operations Command, which was brought into existence near the end of last December, just before the U.S. began offensive operations in Afghanistan. During a mission to uncover suspected weapons of mass destruction being developed by the Taliban, what they found turned out to be the most shocking revelation of the 21st century thus far." He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts and deciding whether he really wanted to say what Ian knew was coming.  
  
"It was less than a week before the disaster in Shoreline that we found out what the Umbrella Corporation really stood for. Contrary to the beliefs of nearly everyone in the country, myself included, we found out that the Raccoon S.T.A.R.S. were right. Three years ago they were laughed at when they claimed the Umbrella Corporation was creating biological weapons in the mountains outside of Raccoon City. They were blamed for attacking an Umbrella plant in Raccoon City, causing a leak of several lethal viruses, which led to the destruction of Raccoon. I am here before you to say that this is not true. Tens of thousands of American citizens have been butchered at the hands of the weapons created by Umbrella, with the full knowledge and approval of several as of yet unidentified persons in the government. Even I was not safe from their influence. Many of you remember the questions asked by a reporter from the New York Times in the immediate aftermath of the destruction of Shoreline, Washington. We discovered that the reporter received inside information from Andrew Spencer, the current President of Umbrella." Bush stopped to take a sip of water before going on.  
  
"What really happened in Shoreline? Even we don't know all of the details; the only person that could answer all of the questions is Andrew Spencer. What we do know is that Umbrella learned of the presence of a S.T.A.R.S. member in the city, presumably through a mole in the National Security Agency. Spencer decided to send a team of Umbrella Special Forces, a paramilitary unit maintained by Umbrella, to the city to make sure the S.T.A.R.S. member was killed through whatever means necessary. Whatever means necessary included using biological weapons against innocent civilians in the hopes of getting lucky. In order to prevent the spread of the biological weapons this administration, much like the previous one, was forced to destroy the city. We could not take the chance of having the virus spread beyond the city. Now you may wonder what type of virus this is exactly. At this point, I feel that Assistant Director Ian Williams, the leader of the Special Operations Command, is more qualified to continue than I am." With that, Bush stepped away from the podium, and patted Ian on the shoulder.  
  
"As the President said, my name is Ian Williams, and I am the Assistant Director for Special Operations with the CIA. This places me in control of the Special Operations Command, more commonly referred to as the SOC. Contrary to the report that you have received, from Umbrella no less, we are not in the business of harming American, or any other country's citizens. We had no idea that Umbrella was developing weapons of mass destruction, for sale to anyone with enough money, including international terrorists. While this may be a hard statement to back up, it is the truth nonetheless. While one of our teams was searching Afghanistan for suspected weapons of mass destruction, they came across a lab built and financed by Umbrella, creating biological weapons for the Taliban and Al Qaeda. Not only was this facility responsible for the creation of viruses, but also of Umbrella's BioOrganic Weapons. This," Ian said as he pulled out a blown-up photograph and handed it to the gathered journalists, "Is one such BioOrganic Weapon, or B.O.W. Umbrella calls it a Tyrant, for obvious reasons. This is not their only B.O.W., nor their strongest. This photo was taken by an SOC field team less than two weeks ago, in an Umbrella facility near Phoenix, Arizona. The facility was destroyed shortly afterward by the field team."  
  
"Why did you destroy it? Wouldn't it be better to take one of these facilities and parade these monsters out for the whole world to see?" one reporter asked.  
  
"We don't want to take the chance of having one of these abominations escape, and spread viruses throughout the country. Nor do we want to take the chance of having one be released by an employee while we try to defeat the facility's security forces. The best solution is to destroy them wherever we find them," Ian replied.  
  
"Where's your proof?" Another reporter asked as both Ian and Bush smiled.  
  
"Right here," Ian said as he pulled out the VHS tape. Two aides wheeled a TV/VCR combo into the room as Ian slid the tape in. "This was taken by a surveillance device yesterday." The tape started playing with Spencer's conversation with Tom Walker. Ian began reading the hastily-added subtitles that the SOC's intelligence personnel added that morning.  
  
"Spencer: You realize that you've ruined me."  
  
"Thomas Walker: How so? I didn't give them anything.  
  
"Spencer: Didn't you? Some of my more loyal employees were able to escape from Ontario, and told me a very interesting story. I've wondered since you were captured, how was it possible that the S.T.A.R.S. knew about not only our Alpha at the facility, but also the Nemesis III vaccines and the other defenses we had set up for them?"  
  
"Walker: The SOC interrogated me, and claimed to have information from someone inside the facility that was selling information to the highest bidder. They already knew about the Nemesis III vaccines, at least from what they asked me about them. I didn't tell them anything"  
  
"Spencer: We did happen to find someone who's loyalties were questionable, but we were unable to get any condemning information out of him before he had a fatal heart attack. It would seem that the Americans were able to acquire their information through this man, and managed to pass it on to the S.T.A.R.S. before they attacked. Your return to this corporation, however, is not nearly so simple as pointing fingers in the right direction. I've been contacted by several parties who are interested in buying our 'special' products, but we have a problem that needs to be dealt with; the SOC. I'm tired of their meddling in my business. I have a plan to take them out, but I need you to provide me all of the information that you possibly can about them. We'll consider it a down payment on your debt to me."  
  
"There's your proof," Ian said as he stopped the tape and ejected it. "Spencer not only admitted to wanting to take out our organization, but that his company was researching the viruses and B.O.W. programs." He looked up to gauge the reporters' reactions, and nearly froze. Only one of them had a camera actually filming, while the others simply sat there waiting. Before he could ask why they were sitting there, the doors at the back of the room opened, and a phalanx of Secret Service agents and police officers walked in.  
  
"George Bush and Ian Williams, I have been authorized by the Undersecretary of State to place both of you under arrest for treason and conspiracy to commit murder. You have the right to remain silent," a police officer said as he took out a set of handcuffs. The Secret Service agents took Ian's bag and videotapes, and began smashing them. Ian brought his gaze up as the police officer snapped the cuffs on, and saw that most of the reporters were clapping.  
  
"So you're working with Spencer too," he said as he noticed that the lone man with the camera was still filming. He gave Ian a reassuring wink before starting to back towards the rear of the room.  
  
"Of course. We were only waiting for the right moment to act. The remainder of the cabinet as well as everyone unwilling to agree with our point of view have been taken into custody already. Don't worry, I promise that your trials and executions will be short and painless," the officer whispered as two Secret Service agents walked up behind the cameraman.  
  
"You aren't authorized to be here. Give us the tape," the leader said as the man smiled. He ejected the tape from the camera, and started to hand it to the agent before feigning dropping the tape. As he went to catch it, he tackled the first agent, then swept the legs out from beneath the second one. The man ran out the doors as two of Umbrella's bought-out men shot at him.  
  
"He won't get far," the officer who had cuffed Ian said. "We didn't anticipate you having someone here to film the conference. It almost worked out for you Mr. Williams. It's a shame that your only hope is about to be hunted down and exterminated."  
  
'But I've never seen him before in my life,' Ian thought and almost said, before catching himself. Whoever that man was definitely intended to help both Bush and him. The sound of automatic weapon fire drifted up through the halls as the officer smiled.  
  
"That should be it for him," he said as he began pushing Ian towards the doors. "We've got a car to catch. I don't want to keep your tribunals waiting."  
  
"This is Sentry 1. I don't know who that guy is but we can't hit him," another Umbrella man called out over the radio.  
  
"What do you mean you can't hit him? You're all expert shots. Take him out or Lord Spencer will have your heads," the officer said before turning off the radio.  
  
"Maybe our only hope is going to make it," Ian said before the officer punched him in the face. He barely even noticed the pain; he was still trying to figure out just who the cameraman was. One thing stood out in his memory; 'Those hazel eyes,' Ian thought.  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
SOC Headquarters  
August 18, 2001 12:25 PM  
  
"It's been way too long since we've heard from Ian," Mark said as he started pacing. He, like all of the other SOC commandos, had assumed the worst and began immediate evacuation procedures. All that remained was a skeleton support staff, and a handful of operatives. The databases had been copied to disks, then wiped, and explosive charges had been set up throughout the facility. There was a single TV still hooked up, and it was set to CNN in the hope that something about Ian or the President would be on.  
  
"Shh, we may have something here," Ken said as the news station cut to a live feed from the White House.  
  
"This is Walter Phelps, reporting live from the White House where one of the most eventful days in U.S. history has taken another dramatic turn. Roughly an hour ago, President Bush, his cabinet and several dozen staff members were taken into arrest and charged with treason in connection with the S.T.A.R.S. terrorists. Among them is Ian Williams, the leader of the secret CIA secret military unit that was directly coordinating with the S.T.A.R.S. As of now, the Undersecretary of State has taken over duties as President, and was sworn in moments ago by Judge Francis Salvin of the 1st Circuit Court of Appeals. His first act was to mobilize the country's military against the traitors, as well as the S.T.A.R.S. When explaining the reasoning behind his decision, President Evans said, "The news that our nation has supported a terrorist organization has left me with little choice but to respond in kind. All of the guilty will be hunted down, and collaborators will be punished."  
  
"I've seen enough," Matt said as he turned off the TV. "It's time to leave. Call up the S.T.A.R.S. and tell them to get out of the country right now. We'll be operating out of the Alpha Site for the near future, it looks like."  
  
"Are you sure the Canadians are going to let us and not just turn us back over to Evans?" Zander asked.  
  
"Where else are we going to go? Tell everyone to contact their families and get them out of the country. Umbrella's going to go after them if they can't get to us," Matt said as he pulled out his cell phone and dialed his family, telling them as much as he could and to get to Canada. He did the same with Melissa, and grabbed a duffel bag before taking all of his personnel possessions out of his office and locker. "Good-bye Headquarters. You've served us well," he whispered as he patted the wall for the last time.  
  
"What about DefTek? We should give them a heads up. And did someone call our new recruit?" Greg asked as he pushed a handcart full of weapons and ammunition in front of him.  
  
"Already did," Matt replied. "They're going to torch their main office and make for Canada, just like we are. I have the contact number for them once they get there. Umbrella shouldn't get any people out to find them until they're already safe. We're the main targets. And Serena is already on her way to the Alpha Site."  
  
"Nice to know they care," Fred said as he helped Greg with the weapons. "Now how are we going to get all of this stuff across the border?"  
  
"I have an old friend or two in the border patrol. We've got authorization to go right on through the checkpoints. Once we're in Canada, we're home free," Matt replied. "Now let's get out of here before we can't leave at all."  
  
"No argument from us," one of the Intel officers said as he finished wiping his computer's hard drive, then put three shots from a 9mm pistol into it to be sure.  
  
"Then let's book," Sam said as he held open the doors to the elevator. Greg and Fred brought the extra weapons onto the elevator, leaving just enough room for Adam and Zander to squeeze in. A handful of others jogged for the freight elevator as Matt walked to the stairs along with Paul and Mark. None of them said a word as they entered the vehicle bay for the last time. It was almost completely empty, with a handful of trucks, cars and vans all that indicated the base was still inhabited.  
  
"Head count," Matt said as he pulled out a list of the remaining personnel. They waited as each person either got off an elevator or came down the stairs, checking off their names once they got in a vehicle and left.  
  
"We're it," Paul said as they walked over towards Mark's car. Matt had left his truck at home, and Paul had been carpooling with Mark already. Once the car had exited the vehicle bay, Paul pulled out a remote detonator for the explosives they had rigged. "Here Matt," he said handing it to him. "Since you're now in charge of the SOC, I figured that you should," he began before Matt nodded.  
  
"I understand. If Spencer thinks he's got us on the run, he's got another thing coming. We're going to spring those people as soon as we can get re-organized, then we're going to scream from every mountaintop just what exactly Spencer is responsible for. This just got serious," he said before pushing the button. The ground around the former SOC Headquarters imploded as the subterranean facility collapsed. A plume of dirt shot up into the air, almost like a last gasp for the dying facility. "I'm through playing games."  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
Top secret Detention Center  
Location unknown  
August 18, 2001 2:21 PM  
  
"How do you plead?" one of the shadowed figures asked Ian.  
  
"Not guilty," he replied with as much dignity as he could muster. He knew that these "tribunals" were nothing more than kangaroo courts. In the hour they had been at the facility, twenty people had already been in "court," and all had been found guilty.  
  
"You are charged with treason, and conspiracy to commit murder. After reviewing the evidence, this tribunal finds you guilty. You are sentenced to death by firing squad. Your sentence will be carried out on August 20th, at 6:35 AM. Send in the next prisoner," the figure said. Ian had spent a grand total of five minutes in front of the people who called themselves "judges," and the evidence against him had amounted to a post-it note that had his name printed on it and a blue magic marker. He had expected this much, of course, but still wasn't prepared for the suddenness of everything that occurred. Umbrella had set a trap for Bush and himself, hoping to get both of them in the same place to capture them at the same time. And what better way to do it than to frame the President for treason, then kidnap him at his only chance to clear his name.  
  
"You're going to be shot before this is over," Ian said as two guards, Umbrella guards no less, led him away.  
  
"Not when we're calling the shots," one of the judges replied before laughing. "To think, you actually believed you could stand against Umbrella. Shows what you know."  
  
"Where are you taking me?" Ian asked as the guards led him down a different corridor than his cell was in.  
  
"If you're quiet, we can get you out of here, like the others," one of the guards whispered. Ian looked up and recognized who the guard was.  
  
"How did you?" he began to ask before the man smiled.  
  
"You, Mr. Williams, have friends in much higher places than you can possibly comprehend. Now let's get you to safety before anyone realizes that the others are gone too," he replied.  
  
"I don't understand," Ian stammered as the man gave a short laugh.  
  
"If I was in your position, I wouldn't either. Trust me when I say I'm a friend." The man opened a door in the rear of the facility, where Ian saw a Humvee idling.  
  
"My friend will get you up to the border. From there, the Humvee is yours to take to your Alpha Site. Good luck, Assistant Director," his liberator said before turning back towards the facility.  
  
"Can I at least know your name?" Ian asked, wanting to at least try and understand what just happened.  
  
"My friends call me John," he replied before the doors closed. Somehow, 'John' had managed to not only escape the Umbrella ambush at the White House with his tape, but also to beat the Umbrella convoy here. And what had he meant by "Higher places than he could possibly comprehend?" All he ended up with were more questions, making his day even more confusing than before.  
  
"Assistant Director, we really are in a pinch for time. Please get in the Humvee," the other man said as Ian took a moment to try and identify him.  
  
"Barry?" he asked as the man nodded. "How were you able to sneak into an Umbrella compound while they've been out trying to kill you?"  
  
"I honestly have no idea, and I don't feel like sticking around to find out," Barry replied with a smile. "Once we get into Canada I'm going to link up with the others. Now let's get out of here before someone notices that you're gone."  
  
"Do you know where we are right now?" Ian asked as he got into the passenger seat. He had a hood placed over his head during the drive up, but he remembered feeling the sun on the left side of his face, indicating that they were traveling North for at least part of the journey.  
  
"Western Pennsylvania. The Humvee has a full tank of gas, and should be able to get us to Canada. Once we're in the clear you'll be able to fill it up," Barry replied as he shifted the vehicle into gear and drove towards the compound's gate. They were waved through without even a second look from the guard, and began heading Northwest towards Canada, and safety.  
  
"Things are about to get very interesting," Ian said, knowing that it was an understatement. "We aren't just going to roll over and die."  
  
"It's time to take the fight to Umbrella," Barry agreed as Ian nodded. 'Take back the United States, defeat an international pharmaceutical company that had more weapons of mass destruction than France and Great Britain combined, and do it with less than two hundred people,' Ian thought, 'piece of cake.'  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
Umbrella Incorporated Main Office  
August 18, 2001 3:22 PM  
  
"Please repeat what you just told me," Spencer said as he looked at the phone in his hand. "It sounded like you said all of your prisoners escaped, and made it into Canada. It also sounded like you said that not only did your primary targets all escape, but your secondary ones did as well."  
  
"Lord Spencer, by the time we could locate the SOC's Headquarters, it was too late. They destroyed the facility hours before we arrived. The same thing happened with DefTec Industries. Their factory and corporate offices were already burning by the time we got there. If we would've had a little bit longer before the release of the papers we recovered, it might've been a different story," the USF agent on the other end of the line replied. He had just gone through the DefTec offices himself even though the structure was declared unsafe by the fire police, hoping to find something hinting at where they had fled to.  
  
"I understand. You shall be forgiven for your failure this time, but do not allow it to happen again," Spencer said as he placed the phone back in its cradle. "I think we need to put someone else in charge of hunting down our opponents. Mr. Walker, I need you here where you can do the company the most good. I've been looking through the files we have for mercenaries that the American government has been so kind as to provide us, and I believe I've found someone worthy of our time. Please contact her," he added sliding a folder across the desk to Tom. "Make sure she is persuaded to enlist with us."  
  
"I don't think that will be a problem, my Lord. Is there anything else you request of me?" Tom replied as he flipped through the folder quickly.  
  
"Take a handful of security teams and sweep the roofs of the neighboring buildings. I want the bug that's been monitoring my office found and destroyed." Spencer turned his office chair around, and began typing something into his computer. Tom walked out of the office, then took the opportunity to look at the folder again to confirm his suspicions. 'It's really her,' he thought, remembering his only field operation in Afghanistan. The prison uprising had been very chaotic, and he had never like the Russian mercenary very much to begin with. All he believed it would've taken to kill her was a set of misread coordinates for an artillery barrage, but he had underestimated her will to survive. Luckily for him, she had blamed the mishap on the U.S. commander on the scene, even though she neglected the small detail that he didn't have the authority to call in artillery. 'Well Xenia, it seems that we're going to meet again. You might not be so lucky this time.'  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
SOC Alpha Site (Current Headquarters)  
August 18, 2001 4:37 PM  
  
"So you're Sarena Ba," Matt began as he looked at the unfamiliar  
person sitting at the facility's conference table.  
  
"First names only. You may have the proper clearance to know my full name, but not everyone else does," she replied.  
  
"Okay then. I suppose I should welcome you to the SOC. Your background is very impressive, from what I've seen. Of course, most of it is classified even beyone my clearance. I'm looking forward to working with you," Matt said as he extended his hand.  
  
"We'll see," Serena replied, before hesitantly extending her own hand. 'Looks like we aren't starting out on the best foot,' Matt thought to himself. 'I hope I can keep the SOC together long enough to get Ian back. It's time to get back to business.'  
  
"Has everyone made it?" Matt asked as the Team and Group leaders gathered around the conference table, along with the lead members of the support staff. Once all of the leaders were in, Matt had paged them over the facility's PA system, in order to get an accurate count of how many personnel he had available.  
  
"All field operatives are accounted for," Adam said.  
  
"We're all here," Frank Lorenz said, representing the support personnel.  
  
"I'm here," a voice near the door announced. Matt looked up, and had to do a double take to make sure his eyes weren't playing tricks on him.  
  
"Ian? How?" was all that he could stammer as Ian walked up to the head of the table. Everyone stood up as a gesture of respect, having feared that they would never see their leader alive again.  
  
"It's a long story. The President, and everyone else that Umbrella took prisoner made it out too. I'm glad to hear that we all made it to the Alpha Site. How about family members? Have they all made it out?" Ian asked.  
  
"Evans closed the borders right after the last of us got across. We don't know how many people made it out and how many are still behind," Matt said as he frowned. He hoped Evans wouldn't order U.S. troops to arrest their families, but with Umbrella really calling the shots, nothing was certain.  
  
"All we can do is hope that they're okay. What about Serena, did she make it here too?" Ian said, shifting the conversation away from the obviously sensitive issue of family members, and getting back to business.  
  
"Reporting for duty, Assistant Director," she replied, snapping off a quick salute which earned her glances from all of the others at the table. Military protocol had been one of the first things to meet the chopping block when the SOC was established. It was obvious to all of the people in the room that Serena was new to the SOC, since she didn't know that.  
  
"Please, call me Ian. And you don't have to salute me since you aren't in the military anymore. Or in the United States, for that matter. Now, I'd like to hear some ideas about how to get our country back," he said as he looked around the room.  
  
"Take out Umbrella's HQ," was the suggestion from Mark. "If we break their base of operations, we can take Spencer and expose Umbrella for what they really are."  
  
"We don't have the manpower to. Even if we armed all of the support personnel, and took the S.T.A.R.S. with us, we'd only have about half the number of security personnel that Umbrella has in the building alone, not counting any B.O.W. surprises. Our immediate concern should be what to do about the test for Umbrella's Alphas. We need to have Sam R. out there," Matt said, making sure to address the right Sam.  
  
"We aren't going to be able to get in through the U.S. armed services, that's for sure. What about Canada?" Paul asked.  
  
"Could we get Teams 7 and 9 into the Canadian armed forces? Umbrella would take troops from Canada, and we could rig it so Sam gets chosen. Then we could have the rest of Team 7 and Team 9 assigned to a carrier as part of a NATO exercise. Sometime right before Sam gets to the island, we could arrange for a fishing boat or something to pick them up, and have them wait off the coast of the island. And if we need to scrub the mission, Sam could call the carrier and tell them that they were on a drug-interdiction mission or something, and need a lift," Serena suggested as if the answer should be obvious.  
  
"I knew hiring you was a good idea," Ian said with a laugh as she frowned. "Let's make it happen people. I also want a plan to start hitting Spencer's facilities on my desk by tomorrow morning. Take the rest of the day and get some rest. Try to find out what happened to your families as well, if you can. Dismissed."  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
And that's number 10. As you can see, this chapter earned its title of Aftershocks not once but twice (from the two huge plot twists). I must admit that when I started to write this chapter I intended for it to be slightly different, then remembered a few ideas I had wanted to incorporate earlier in the story, such as the on-the-run aspect.  
  
And how's that for a twist? Umbrella is now, for all intents and purposes, in charge of the United States of America. Is the SOC going to be able to free the country, and restore the legitimate government (Bush, etc.)? And to Rhys D, this is only a small part of what I meant by consequences. All this stuff has happened, and the story isn't even halfway done yet.  
  
Before the question is asked, I'm going to explain where exactly John came from. When the Battle of Shoreline was posted on umbrella-inc.com it got a little bit away from what I intended it to be, and John was my attempt to bring the story back on track (clear up contradictions, etc.) so it wouldn't be so confusing. I know, back in Chapter 2 I said I didn't want any super-human characters, but I also felt that this story needed some continuity between TBoS and O: FS. If it'll make you all feel better, (Warning: Spoiler. Do not read if you don't want to know what's going to happen. To make sure no one accidentally reads it, I'm going to write the spoiler backwards. If you want to read it, then look from right to left), elihW gnoL A roF kcaB eB t'noW eH (end spoiler).  
  
Now that I've got that taken care of, I want to add a few more thoughts. I don't know how it happened, but my teachers decided to be extremely lenient on homework this week, so in 3 nights I was able to write about 7,000 words for this chapter. The first chapter of The Fall of Umbrella is about half-way done, but I haven't worked on it for a week or two (getting this chapter done is my main priority, since it's the only one that anyone's really waiting for). Our school is giving us Friday off to go to the Bloomsburg Fair (I never thought I'd be glad to have a day off from school to go to an event where people get stabbed and/or raped every year but hey, if it means I can get another few thousand words written, so much the better) and of course there's the football game Friday night (the team actually won, and trounced the other team no less, to advance to a record of 1 win and 3 losses), where all of our lives are hanging in the balance (the band sucked the big one last week, so if we aren't amazing on Friday I might not be alive to continue this story). Since this story is my pride and joy, I'm going to go out there and own all to make sure I make it through alive. As always, I'm still happy to take characters (good and bad, or neutral if you want, since I now have a brand new administration in the White House to play with, for the time being). Anyway, on to the real goodies and what I'm sure is the only reason anyone's read the last five hundred plus words, the COMING ATTRACTIONS.  
  
Next time on Operation: Falling S.T.A.R.S.:  
  
The realization that they will now have to fight against the United States finally begins to set in as Spencer celebrates his victory over the SOC. But even as he believes the SOC to be crushed, they are holding a strategy session with the S.T.A.R.S. about how to proceed. The anti-Umbrella effort will get a huge boost when it is revealed that one of Spencer's most- trusted employees has been selling him out all along. Who the insider is (if you read the Resident Evil books you'll know), and what he's going to offer to the S.T.A.R.S. and SOC may turn the tide back into their favor once and for all. Don't miss a second as the action heats up again in Operation: Falling S.T.A.R.S. Chapter 11: Ground Zero 


	11. Ground Zero

Disclaimer: Capcom (and anyone else who has a piece of the pie) own Resident Evil wholly, completely, and entirely. The people who have so kindly submitted characters to me for use in this story own their characters. Anything that I create to enhance this story belongs completely, wholly, and entirely to me!  
  
Author's Notes: Well, where should I start? I survived the busiest two months of my life thus far! Marching band is done for the year. The good old Danville Ironmen finished the football season with a record of 4 wins and six losses, which made all of us band kids VERY happy (we finished the season on October 31, during that streak of unseasonably warm weather. Compared to the last two years when we made playoffs and froze or froze during the last games of the season, we were ecstatic!), especially since no one really liked the music we played for our field show this year. Thrown in with that was a fearsome battery of standardized tests (I am awaiting results on the PSAT and SAT, and scored in the 95th percentile on the ACT. Now if only I had a shot at getting into an Ivy League school), going to Scout camp, and an end of the marking period homework crunch the likes of which I haven't seen in some time. But all of that garbage is done for now, and I can concentrate on the really important stuff: writing more chapters for this story! Plus with Thanksgiving break coming up in about two weeks, I'm going to be having a lot of time to put a few (more like fifteen-twenty-ish) thousand words into this beast. Okay, I've rambled enough about my life; now on to the really important stuff, like chapter dedications!  
  
Chapter dedications: This chapter is doubly dedicated to Sporty-Girl (who has been my most frequent reviewer. Please, please come back and write more!) and Rhys D (if anyone wants to find out what's going to be happening in future chapters short of hacking my Gateway PC and stealing my notes, e- mail this guy. He has seriously figured out a bunch of ideas I'm putting into this story, and has figured out at least part of what is going to take this story up to the end of 2001). Without you two, this project would've either been proceeding much slower (especially without e-mails from Rhys encouraging me to keep on trucking), and I might've given it up entirely. I'm not sure if it's just too long for people, or my summaries just aren't able to attract people to read this fic, but other than a handful of dedicated people, who have my eternal thanks, it seems like no one's really reading this. But thanks to you two (and a few others, whose names I can't remember right now) I'm at this near-milestone. I have just about twenty thousand words (probably ten by the time this chapter is done) to go until I hit the 100,000 word goal I set for myself for this opening part of my (for lack of a better word) miniseries. An interesting tidbit: I am currently writing on our Gateway, which will be the third computer in our house to host at least one chapter of my story (the old PC in my room which never seems to be able to play CDs quite right, the Dell that crashed and deleted my first seven or eight chapters, and now the Gateway). Just in case anyone wanted to know. And in case anyone is wondering, no, I am not just rambling on for the sake of adding an extra six hundred thirteen words to this chapter. Again, thanks to everyone who has reviewed and/or sent in a character and/or e-mailed me. And now, without further adieu,  
  
Operation: Falling S.T.A.R.S.  
  
Chapter Eleven: Ground Zero  
  
Fox News studio  
New York City, New York  
August 19, 2001 11:04 AM  
  
"Thank you Keith. And now back to our top stories for the hour. Unrest continued for the second day in a row in cities and towns throughout the nation as people gathered to protest the ascension of former Undersecretary of State Franklin Evans to the office of President. While not all of the people on the streets were in favor of Bush, they all agreed that the Constitution did not provide an order of succession for anyone below a Cabinet-level position. The demonstrators have a variety of opinions concerning the matter, including beliefs that there should be a new election, or that President Bush and his Cabinet should be found guilty before Evans takes the office. While we here at Fox News don't have an official position on the matter, I personally believe that there is some merit in the demonstrators' beliefs. You can send us your thoughts on the matter over the phone or e-mail. The e-mail address for this show, as always, is, hey! What are you doing?"  
  
"You, and all of the employees of this station pending a complete investigation, are under arrest for blackmail, larceny and money laundering. This station is being shut down, by order of the United States Attorney General. Cut the cameras," a federal agent barked, as armed men entered the studio, destroying broadcasting equipment and cuffing the employees.  
  
"What do you mean? This is a violation of our rights!" the anchorman shouted, before being shoved back into his chair with a Beretta 92F leveled at his head.  
  
"If I were you, rights wouldn't be the highest priority on my list of concerns. Now get these mutts out of here," the agent said to the accompanying NYPD officers. They hesitantly read the staff their rights, before leading them out to the waiting buses on the street below. There were hundred of people surrounding the small perimeter the police had established, none of them very happy to be seeing what was currently occurring.  
  
"So this is what Evans is resorting to in order to silence dissent?!" one person yelled, as several others shouted in agreement.  
  
"Bring out the masks and tear gas," the federal agent in charge told the senior NYPD officer, a Sergeant, on the scene.  
  
"Why? These people haven't done anything wrong," the officer replied. The agent picked up a bottle that was lying near the front door of the studio, and threw it through the window of one of the police cruisers.  
  
"We've got a mob down here!" he shouted into a handheld radio, motioning for his men to get their riot gear from the trunks of their cars. They did so, and one of them handed him a tear gas grenade launcher. "I'm giving all of you ten seconds to disperse before you are being cleared out!" he shouted as the crowd jeered. He counted silently to himself, and on ten shouldered the launcher and fired three grenades around the perimeter. Most of the people scattered, with some getting trampled by the panicking people as they sought refuge from the gas that was billowing throughout the street.  
  
"What in the name of God are you doing?" the NYPD officer asked as he pulled the grenade launcher from the agent's hands.  
  
"Give that back to me or you're going to rot in jail along with those treasonous pigs," he replied as he pointed to the buses that were beginning to pull out. The agent took his grenade launcher back, and walked back towards his car, along with the other federal agents.  
  
"I'm really not liking the new administration in the White House," the officer said to the patrolman standing next to him. "Call dispatch and tell them we're going to need ambulances out here, and fast. There're injured people out there. He might not care about them or their rights, but I do." The sergeant walked out towards where the injured were, stopping to take a first aid kit from the trunk of his patrol car. As he walked past the vehicle of the head federal agent, he overheard him talking on his cell phone.  
  
"Yes sir, Fox's New York studio has been neutralized. There were a few witnesses that needed to be cleared away, and there appeared to be a few casualties among them, but no one worth worrying over. The NYPD will, of course, receive blame for firing tear gas into the crowd, and causing the stampede of protestors. Nothing other than that to report, sir. We are returning to base," the agent said as the sergeant continued walking, pretending he hadn't heard anything. He couldn't figure out why the agent would want to blame the NYPD for the incident, or how he could speak so unconcernedly about the injuries sustained to the civilians. He would have time to worry about that later: for the time being there were wounded people who needed his attention more.  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
Location unknown  
August 19, 2001 11:30 AM  
  
"Do you understand what you're asking? We can't make that kind of commitment."  
  
"General, I completely understand. But we can't abandon them. You know full well what Umbrella's viruses will do to this planet if they're released. And you know that we can't just leave the people of Earth to that fate. Pulling out is not an option."  
  
"Colonel Davis, John, I can't stress enough that I know!" the general replied, stressing the last two words. The video screen that displayed the general caught a bit of the frantic action in the background. There were people walking briskly between desks, while wall-mounted monitors displayed force compositions and strategic overviews of various solar systems. "But our alternatives to pulling out are even worse. Earth has a fighting chance alone. There are worlds that badly need the forces we have stationed here, or they will fall. Do you know what happened after we retreated from the first planets that were attacked? They were destroyed. Fifteen billion citizens of the Alliance wiped out, without a thought. And you want me to pull forces away to do what? Assist six billion people who don't even know we exist, and put another twenty billion of our citizens at risk due to weakened front lines. I can't make that order, and you know that."  
  
"There has to be something we can do. Let me stay back, Major Williams is more than capable of leading the 117th in my absence," John replied.  
  
"I can't do that either. Your division will need you in this fight. The only way we can do any more to help Earth is to win this war as quickly as possible. I'm sorry, but I have to deny your request to reinforce Earth, and intervene in the fight against Umbrella. At this point, it just can't be done. But we will leave some support assets in place, so we can at least monitor the situation. And Colonel, believe me when I say that I'm on your side. We just can't sacrifice any more worlds, no matter how badly Earth needs us. Prepare your division for departure Colonel," the general replied.  
  
"Yes sir," John replied as he snapped off a salute. The general returned it, and the communications link was broken. "Well Tony, we tried. I wish I knew what the general meant by support assets."  
  
"This might help clarify what he meant, sir," Tony replied, handing John a manila folder. He scanned the paper inside, then smiled slightly.  
  
"I had a feeling that I wasn't the only one assisting the S.T.A.R.S. and SOC, even if he only is indirectly. Based on the current situation, I think he's the best person to have with them. Thanks for letting me see this. Now let's get the troops spun up and win this war. What do you say Major?" John replied as Tony smiled.  
  
"The sooner the better. Let's just hope that we don't make it back too late," Tony replied as they left the room.  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
SOC Alpha Site  
August 19, 2001 12:02 PM  
  
"Sir, we have S.T.A.R.S. One on the radio. They'll be here in seven minutes," a communications officer called out as Ian nodded.  
  
"Good. This meeting has been a long time coming. I just wish it could've been under better circumstances, back in the States. But we have to make do with what we have. Tell them that we acknowledge, and are awaiting their arrival," Ian replied.  
  
"I couldn't agree more," Matt added. "Maybe we can come up with some way of winning back the U.S. At the very least, we need to start hitting back against Umbrella. Maybe they'll have some ideas as to where we should start. In the mean time, I have to go get some papers together for the meeting." He left the command center and walked down the now-familiar hallway, making a left into the second office in the corridor, closing the door and grabbing a packet of papers on his desk.  
  
"Nice office you have here," John said as he walked around the relatively small room.  
  
"How did you? Never mind, I'm not even going to ask. What brings you here John?" Matt asked, startled at the sudden appearance of his friend.  
  
"Came to say good-bye. We're leaving momentarily," he replied with a sad smile. "But we will be back, hopefully soon. Things aren't going too well up there," he added glancing skyward. "You just have to hold out until then. I wish that we could do more for you, but until we get the mess upstairs cleaned up, we're in a pinch."  
  
"Thanks anyway," Matt said as he turned to pick up a stack of papers on his desk. By the time he turned back around, John was gone. "Good luck," he added, though he was sure his friend couldn't hear him.  
  
"Hey Matt, Ian wants us in Conference Room 1," Mark said, poking his head in the office door. "The S.T.A.R.S. are here."  
  
"Then let's go," Matt replied as he closed the door to his office behind him. "We don't have time to waste right now."  
  
"You can say that again. Ian's still trying to get a count on how many families didn't make it over the border in time, but it isn't looking good right now. Mexico's still an option, but for how long is anyone's guess. Logistics is having a cow right now trying to secure munitions and supplies. Being on the run from the U.S. was never a contingency they expected to have to deal with. And until we can acquire some pretty sophisticated manufacturing equipment, DefTek isn't going to be able to do much good for us. I hate to be a pessimist, but right now things could definitely look a whole lot better," Mark replied as Matt nodded solemnly.  
  
"All we can do is fight on with what we have available right now. Come on, let's see what we can set up with the S.T.A.R.S.," Matt said as they walked towards the conference room. On the way they ran into Paul and Ken.  
  
"Oh man, you are not going to believe what I just heard," Ken said as Matt motioned for him to continue. "I was just going through Umbrella's network, testing out some new hacking programs the tech guys came up with. Remember when you went out looking for Melissa a few weeks ago? Umbrella recovered the bodies of the people who were there with you and Pierre Dupree, and are doing some whacked out experiments on them."  
  
"Those poor people, all they were looking for were answers. Umbrella doesn't even have the decency to let them rest in peace. There isn't much that we can do right now, but when we get the chance we have to stop those experiments. You look like there's something else you have to say Ken," Matt replied. He didn't want to be so dismissive about what Umbrella was doing to his friends, but due to the SOC being run out of America, his options for helping them were extremely limited.  
  
"I was talking with my girlfriend too, and found out a bit of what's going on back in the States right now," he added hesitantly.  
  
"Please tell me you were using a secure connection. If Umbrella finds us up here, we're in deep trouble," Mark said as Ken nodded in the affirmative. "So what did she say?"  
  
"It isn't pretty over there right now. Evans is declaring martial law in the cities, and putting the National Guard on the streets. He's also put some armed people loyal only to him on the streets with the task of cracking down on dissent, and the media. Supposedly there was a riot in New York City earlier today, when they shut down Fox's studio there, and there was a similar event in LA when they moved against the news offices there. She also said that hundreds, maybe thousands of people have been arrested and held without being charged. At least that's the rumor on the streets. There was an FBI raid on one of the apartments in the building across the street for her, and the place was torched after the person was arrested. Not just the apartment, but the whole building," Ken said.  
  
"Jesus. Is she okay?" Paul asked as Ken smiled slightly.  
  
"That's the only good part. She's fine, and I told her to keep her head down. But it sounds like the country is going downhill fast. I wish there was something we could do," he said as they continued towards the conference room. Mark opened the door, and they saw that everyone else was either seated or leaning against one of the walls, waiting for them so the meeting could begin.  
  
"Glad to see you could make it," Matt whispered as he sat down next to Barry.  
  
"Same here. Have you heard anything about what's going on back in the States?" he asked.  
  
"It isn't good. Evans is clamping down on everything, and will probably come up here looking for us soon," Matt replied.  
  
"Now that we're all here, we can start," Ian said as he stood up. "As you all know, Umbrella has managed to overthrow the government of the United States, and is currently in the process of solidifying power. We need to start hitting back against them and the sooner the better. What I need are suggestions from all of you as to what to do."  
  
"We need to liberate the U.S. and get the legitimate government back in place. With Umbrella sitting pretty behind the best military in the world, we aren't going to have a chance of beating them," one of the S.T.A.R.S. said.  
  
"I agree Chris. We also need to start taking down facilities outside the U.S. We did a fairly decent job of clearing the country of Umbrella's weapons facilities before we were forced out, so it should take them a while to rebuild there. In the mean time we can give them headaches in other countries, and spread their attention from the U.S. to all over the world. It'll also take some of their resources away from hunting us up here and force them to put more personnel into security. We've got a good start. What else can we come up with people?" Ian asked.  
  
"Is there some way we can hack a news satellite and get some air time? From what I've been hearing people in the U.S. aren't very supportive of Evans or his policies, and if we can erode the small base of support he has, we might be able to get the people to rise up against him," Adam asked as Ken nodded.  
  
"Between me and the tech guys, I think we can cook something up. It'd be nice if we had some sort of tape or something to play to really stir up some support. In the mean time, we could start running some of the surveillance tapes we have of Spencer's office. It might not incite the people to rise up right away, but if they see that Umbrella was lying, they might be a bit more vocal in their support of removing Evans from office," Ken announced.  
  
"If you can do it Ken, go for it. Just make sure they can't trace the signal. If it's possible, I want the first broadcast ready to air by the end of the day," Ian said as Ken stood up and walked out of the room to get started. "That covers the U.S. pretty well. Now we need to come up with some targets to hit. There's an Umbrella plant outside of Ottawa that would make a good first target, and give us a chance to practice working together."  
  
"We can be ready to move in thirty six hours, provided we have a plan worked out," Chris said as he pulled out a pen and began scribbling notes on a piece of paper.  
  
"Greg, would you work with Chris and the S.T.A.R.S. and set up a plan to take the facility out. I'll give you three hours to come up with a basic idea, and present it if that's acceptable," Ian replied as Greg and Chris nodded. "Alright then, I'll see all of you at 3:15," he said as everyone either milled around the room or made for the exit.  
  
"So you're Matt Ryan. Chris Redfield," a man a few inches shorter than Matt said as he stuck out his hand. "Barry told us about how you helped him in Shoreline. Thanks a lot for that."  
  
"No problem. We need to work together to stop Umbrella, now more than ever," Matt replied.  
  
"Yeah. I can't believe that Umbrella bought off enough people in the government to be able to make a move like that. I just hope that we can stop them," Chris said.  
  
"We have to. I'll let you go over ideas for the op with Greg now," Matt said as Chris nodded.  
  
"Nice to finally meet you," Chris said as he walked over to where Greg and a few other members of the SOC and S.T.A.R.S. were going over a map of the area surrounding Umbrella's facility. Matt headed for the facility's firing range, to burn off some of the frustration that had been building up since they had been run out of the country.  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
United Nations Building  
New York City, New York  
August 19, 2001 1:27 PM  
  
"Mister Prime Minister, the representative from the United States has leveled a very serious accusation against your country. One that I believe requires an answer from you," the Secretary-General addressed the Canadian Prime Minister.  
  
"I am afraid that I do not have enough information currently to present an adequate response to the U.S. Representative, but I will stress the fact that Canada does not sponsor or support terrorism. I wish to request a brief recess, to find out if what the U.S. Representative has charged holds any merit," the Prime Minister replied.  
  
"We will reconvene here in twenty minutes. That should give you enough time to do your research, Prime Minister," the Secretary-General replied. The Prime Minister hurriedly gathered his papers and walked towards the room that his delegation had been assigned to use for the day's proceedings. After finding out that the U.S. had accused his country of harboring terrorists earlier that day, he had spoken for quite a while with his advisors. They had no idea that the S.T.A.R.S. organization was operating out of his country, and strongly advised he promise the U.S. whatever they wanted. But deep down inside of him was a nagging feeling that he shouldn't give in, which had only grown stronger since he had arrived at the UN building earlier that day.  
  
"Please let me talk to my advisors in private," the Prime Minister said to his security personnel, who nodded and let him proceed into the room alone. As he walked over to the phone to confirm with them that the S.T.A.R.S., along with the fugitives from the American government were in the country, a knock came at the door. "Yes?" he asked, as the door opened slightly.  
  
"A package just arrived for you. Security scanned it and it came up clean," an aide said, as he placed the package on the room's table. The Prime Minister picked it up, and waited until the aide left before opening it. Inside was a videocassette, along with a printed letter. He scanned over the letter, before opening the door to the room.  
  
"I need a TV with a VCR in here, right away," he said as one of the guards nodded and went off to search for one.  
  
"Sir, does your request have anything to do with the package you just received?" another guards asked.  
  
"It has everything to do with the package, and the future of Canada. After watching this tape," the Prime Minister said as he held the tape up, "We may very well be at war with the United States of America." The guard looked on in shock as his partner returned with the TV. "Let's see what we have here," he continued as the guard hooked up the TV and VCR. The guards went to leave the room, but the Prime Minister held up his hand. "You deserve to see this as much as I do. This tape will affect the future of our country, and it is only fair that you get to see it." He walked up to the VCR and inserted the tape, turned the TV on, and pressed play. The screen was black for a few seconds before a man appeared.  
  
"Greetings, Mr. Prime Minister. I trust that this tape has arrived before the United States has initiated hostilities with your nation. If it has, then it is not too late to avert them. The contents of this tape are going to at the very least delay the U.S. from acting, and give you something to use against President Evans if he does decide to use troops. I trust that you are familiar with the S.T.A.R.S. organization, more specifically those who are currently in your country, along with the legitimate American government. Also, I hope that you have, either through one of the U.S. Representative's accusations or your own background knowledge, learned why the S.T.A.R.S. are in hiding from the U.S. I have one more question for you before the tape begins. How familiar are you with the Umbrella Corporation? Not the medicines it produces, but the illegal weaponry. I'll let the tape explain further. I bid you good day." With that, the tape shifted scenes to the White House Press Room, where George W. Bush was about to speak. The Prime Minister watched attentively as he realized that what he had in his VCR was a copy of the last press conference Bush had given before becoming a fugitive. It dawned on him just how important the tape was, as he watched Bush handcuffed and led away while the arresting police and Secret Service admitted to operating under orders from the Umbrella Corporation. The tape stopped abruptly after that, and the minister rewound it before putting it back into the package, and picking up the phone in the room.  
  
"Mr. Roberts, I would like to speak with you before the General Assembly goes back into session. It concerns the matter that was discussed before our recess," he said as he could almost hear the other man smile on the opposite end of the line.  
  
"So you've had a chance to speak with your advisors. I hope you've come to the right decision and will turn over the fugitives," Roberts replied.  
  
"I've made my decision. I'd like to talk to you in private though. Would you be able to meet me in my delegation's conference room?" the Prime Minister asked.  
  
"Of course. I'll be there in a few minutes," Roberts replied as he hung up the phone. This gave the Prime Minister some time to gather his thoughts and be sure of what he was going to say. Three minutes later, the door to the room opened as Mr. Roberts, looking very smug, walked into the room.  
  
"I had a chance to contact my government in Washington and inform them that you would help us. They were very pleased to hear the good news," he said as the Prime Minister recalled an old expression.  
  
"You should never assume, Mr. Roberts. I freely admit that the people your country is looking for are in Canada. But," he said as Roberts prepared to interrupt, "They will not be turned over. After receiving some new information from an anonymous source, I've made my decision. Canada is going to recognize your fugitives as the legitimate government of the United States, and will be extending offers of asylum to all of them."  
  
"You must be joking," Roberts said, not believing what he had just heard. "You're offering asylum to convicted terrorists and fugitives from justice. The General Assembly will side with us, and put sanctions on you."  
  
"This matter will not go to vote, or it will be your country facing sanctions. Tell your President exactly what I am about to say. I know what happened to Bush at his last press conference, and if you continue to threaten my country, the whole world will too. As to turning over the people you want; tell Evans that he can forget about it. You still have a few minutes to call him and get his official response, but this matter will be dropped. You can use my phone if you want to," the Prime Minister replied as a now fuming Roberts took the phone and called the President. The Prime Minister left the room and walked back to the General Assembly chamber, to allow Roberts some privacy as his President flipped out. Several minutes later, the assembly reconvened, and Roberts walked in, slightly late and still looking very angry.  
  
"Mr. Secretary-General, the United States wishes to withdraw its accusations against Canada. Our information over the matter seems to have been mistaken, but once we uncover positive proof as to the whereabouts of the fugitives, we will act, and will not necessarily wait for approval from the UN to do so," he said as the Prime Minister smiled but took the threat as he guessed Evans meant it. 'You have won this round, but you can't stop us if we decide to move against you.' But that was a concern for another day.  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
SOC Alpha Site  
August 19, 2001 3:12 PM  
  
"You guys might want to see this," an aide called out as Matt waited in the command center until it was time for their previous meeting to reconvene.  
  
"What have we got?" he asked as a handful of other people gathered around a TV playing CNN.  
  
"This is Michael Young reporting live from the United Nations Headquarters in New York City, where two hours ago the United States accused Canada of harboring international terrorists and fugitives from justice. The charge was denied by Canada, and inexplicably dropped by the U.S. about a half-hour later. CNN has obtained part of the evidence the U.S. was prepared to offer in support of these charges, including photos taken at border checkpoints of several S.T.A.R.S. members crossing into Canada just before the arrest and escape of former President Bush. There was no official comment from the White House concerning why the charges have been dropped, although one staff member, commenting anonymously, claimed that President Evans was being blackmailed by the Prime Minister of Canada. Officials at the Justice Department commented that they would not rest until the fugitives were recaptured, and anyone who aided them in their escape arrested. This is Michael Young, CNN News."  
  
"Well I'll be. Sure sounds like someone upstairs went to bat for us," Zach said with a smile. "Looks like we're in the clear for the time being."  
  
"Until Umbrella starts looking for us, or Evans decides to just use stealth bombers. But until then, yeah, we're in the clear. It's nice that after everything that's happened in the last two days we're finally catching a break. I do have a bad feeling about that Justice Department bit though. Not to mention that part about Evans being blackmailed. I have a feeling this is only going to be a temporary reprieve. Besides, if Evans finds out where we are and really wants us dead, he'll make it happen," Mark said.  
  
"Which gives us even more incentive to take him down and bury Umbrella. Now let's see what Greg and Chris have come up with for that Ottawa plant," Matt replied. They walked over to the conference room, this time not the last ones there. Matt sat down, and saw that Greg had a laptop set up and hooked up to a projector. The last stragglers filed into the room, and Carlos hit the lights.  
  
"This is Umbrella's Ottawa facility," Greg said as he hit a few keys on the laptop. A three-dimensional picture of the facility appeared on the wall, and began to spin slightly, showing the whole facility. "Based on what the techies have been able to hack out of Umbrella's computers, it should house fifty or sixty BioWeapons, and about the same number of security personnel. There are entry points here, here and here," he said, using a laser pointer to highlight the front lobby, a rear loading dock, and employee's entrance. "It looks like the B.O.W. storage equipment is on the third sub-basement, security stations are on sub-basements two and three and the ground floor, and the whole place is wired with security cameras. Other than that and the number of security goons and B.O.W.s, this looks like a walk in the park," Greg said as he scanned the blueprints that he brought up.  
  
"How soon can we hit this place?" Ian asked.  
  
"The 21st, at about one in the morning. Security should be at its least aware, and it'll give Chris time to get the S.T.A.R.S. organized and ready to roll," Greg replied.  
  
"How many people are we talking about committing to this assault?" was Ian's next question.  
  
"Right now the S.T.A.R.S. Alpha and Bravo teams, and Teams 1 through 6 for us, so about forty people altogether. That number is subject to change of course, depending on if there's a significant change in security forces on-site, and of course this is our worst-case scenario figure," Greg answered.  
  
"Sounds like a lot of people for one facility," Adam said.  
  
"Based on the reports we skimmed from Umbrella's mainframes, we're going to need everyone we can get if those B.O.W.s wake up. We've confirmed three Tyrant-Class, two dozen Hunter-Class, and one dozen Lickers on-site, and the rest are miscellaneous. No mention as to the presence of any Alphas, or any other new surprises, but in this business no news is bad news. So we go in loaded for bear, with the Archangels and other heavy weapons," Chris responded, having been briefed on the SOC's new toys earlier in the morning.  
  
"On a similar note, DefTek is still looking for a few pieces of machinery, but within a week they should have secured enough equipment to start making some SORs, and ammo for us. We're going to have to wait for more Archangels for awhile though, so we might want to leave one behind. That way we don't all of them if this operation goes south," Sam Johnston said.  
  
"Noted," Ian replied. "How are we going to get to the facility?"  
  
"The S.T.A.R.S. have acquired more helicopters than they have pilots, and we have a bunch of pilots with helicopters sitting in storage back in the States, so they're going to loan of some choppers for a helicopter insertion. The helicopters will land in this clearing here, about a mile away from the facility, and the assault teams will go in on foot. Snipers will stay in the tree line, about four hundred yards from the perimeter of the building, and take out any guards patrolling the grounds. Once they're gone, we breach the facility from the loading docks and front lobby, leaving a heavy machine gunner to cover the employee entrance and make sure no one tries to leave that way. Once the exterior is secured, the helicopters are going to orbit the facility and keep an eye out in case Spencer has security personnel outside the facility grounds, and tries to rush them in. The whole operation should take about an hour from ground deployment to extraction, giving the birds enough fuel to make it back to this refueling point," Greg said as he brought up a map of the region. He pointed to a small, open area three-quarters of the way to the SOC Alpha Site from the Umbrella facility. "Teams 8 and 10 are going to deploy here, along with a handful of our aerial support personnel, to gas up the birds when they land, so they can make it back to their airfield. The SOC teams will also disembark here, and return to base in ground transportation."  
  
"Sounds like you guys have this well planned out," Matt said, giving Greg and Chris a thumbs-up. "I'm already looking forward to this op."  
  
"Just one more question. How are we fixed for contingency plans? More security personnel than anticipated, the B.O.W.s getting out, that sort of thing," Ian asked as Chris smiled.  
  
"The helicopters came with some door guns, so we'll be supplying gunners for fire support. If the B.O.W.s get out, we have enough C4 to bring the top levels down on them, but setting off the self-destruct is still the preferred way to take this facility down. As long as the B.O.W.s die, I think this mission will be a success. Resistance should be light, since we'll be catching the guards napping. Besides, from the information we've liberated from Umbrella, this place sounds like where they send the bums of their security forces. The worst of the worst are here, just waiting for us to kill them. Of course, if it sounds too easy, it's an ambush, so we're expecting an elite USF squad, a half-dozen Tyrant-Class or equivalent B.O.W.s, or some combination thereof to hit us. If this mission doesn't go off without a hitch, we've overlooked something huge," Chris said with a smile.  
  
"I have faith in all of you. From the way this has been planned, I'll tell you I'm ninety-eight percent sure this will go off without a problem, and it's ninety-eight only because in war nothing is certain. Team leaders, brief your people and get everything squared away," Ian said. "Because we're going to hit back against Umbrella."  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
Umbrella Incorporated Main Office  
August 19, 2001 4:00 PM  
  
"Lord Spencer, don't you think it's a little too soon to celebrate?" Tom asked, as Spencer laughed out loud.  
  
"Too soon? The SOC has been run out of America. The S.T.A.R.S. are being hunted by the U.S. military, and the best hundred millions dollars I've ever spent are now sitting in the White House! This day could barely get any better!" he replied.  
  
"But it's tomorrow that has me worried," Tom said as he looked at the same manila folder Spencer had given him the day before. "How sure are we that we can trust Xenia to carry out your orders. After all, she turned on the Americans when they hired her a few months ago to help out in Afghanistan."  
  
"Because she will turn out to be the second best hundred million dollars I've ever spent. Her record in the field is impeccable, except for the incident you've already cited, which I think was justified since they nearly killed her. Let's look at it this way, if she had not been in that artillery strike we wouldn't have the chance to hire her today," Spencer replied, his tone becoming serious. "And you aren't exactly one to preach about following orders, and trust, are you Mr. Walker?"  
  
"No sir," Tom admitted meekly, though on the inside he was greatly anticipating getting the opportunity to finish what he had started over a half-year ago.  
  
"Good. Now please send in Mr. Trent on your way out," Spencer said as Tom got up and left the office, still carrying an inner smile. Trent walked past him into the office, and closed the door.  
  
"You wanted to see me, my Lord," he said as Spencer motioned for him to take a seat.  
  
"You've been very loyal to me since I've taken this office Trent. You haven't failed me yet, you didn't betray me like the rest of the board of directors did, and you have always gotten the job done. I have a new assignment for you, one that requires your immediate attention. I've hired a mercenary, one with an excellent list of credentials, and I need someone to coordinate with her. I would ask Mr. Walker, but I get the feeling that he dislikes her for some reason. Her task will be to track down the SOC, and upon finding them, call in our troops to wipe them out. What I need you to do is ensure that her loyalty remains to this company, no matter what. Can you handle this?" Spencer asked. Through the whole speech, Trent hadn't moved a muscle. He contemplated the offer for a few seconds, then gave his answer.  
  
"Lord Spencer, it would be an honor to serve you by carrying out this task."  
  
"Good. She will be arriving early tomorrow morning. Tell Mr. Walker that you will require the dossier on her that is currently in his possession, and tell him that I hope there will be no bad blood between Xenia and himself," Spencer said as he waved for Trent to leave his office. He walked down the hall to where Tom's office was, knocked on the door and stepped inside.  
  
"Lord Spencer told me to go over the dossier you have on Xenia, and that he hopes there won't be any bad blood between her and you," he said as Tom looked up.  
  
"Here's the file," he replied as he handed the folder over, "And don't worry about any bad blood. We were always on fairly good terms." 'Except for when I tried to kill her,' he didn't add. Tom had never liked Trent much, he had always seemed to be Spencer's lap dog, and ready to go out and do anything Spencer desired. 'Here's hoping you fail, you little brown-noser. One day, when I kill Spencer and take this company for myself, I'll be sure to see you turned into one of those monsters he keeps locked up in the basement.'  
  
"Thank you," Trent said as he left the office, leaving the building for the day. He knew that Spencer would have his apartment bugged after what happened to Hunk before Shoreline, so he drove towards a local Internet café instead. He left a few Euros on the desk, logged on to the computer, and sent a short e-mail detailing the day's events to an address who's owner was currently in Canada, preparing to launch an attack against Umbrella. With that done, he got up, walked out the door, got back in his car, and drove home, pondering how long it would take for the justice Umbrella deserved to be delivered by the SOC and S.T.A.R.S.  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
SOC Alpha Site  
August 19, 2001 5:07 PM  
  
"Let's see what the first episode of Freedom TV looks like Ken," Matt said as Ken opened up the video file that he had spent most of the day working on.  
  
"Here we go," he replied as the file began to play. The voice at the beginning of the video had originally belonged to Ken, but had been digitally altered so no one would be able to recognize it. "Fellow citizens of the United States, our country has just been conquered. Not by a foreign power, not by an army, but through the greed of the person now sitting in office, and the aspirations of Andrew Spencer, leader of the Umbrella Corporation. Evans has made almost one hundred million dollars from Spencer, while Spencer has been producing weapons of mass destruction under the banner of providing medicine." The video went on to show picture of some of Umbrella's B.O.W.s along with part of the surveillance footage from Spencer's office, showing him ordering the destruction of Shoreline. "This is the man who is ruling the United States, the one who murdered thousands in Shoreline, marketing weapons responsible for murdering hundreds of thousands more in Raccoon City. This message is also intended for the U.S. military, especially high-ranking members. Here is your commander-in-chief; a man in office because he made a deal with the devil, signed with the blood of thousands of dead Americans. Now is the time to fight back against Evans, to fight against Umbrella, to show them that the U.S. will not allow a usurper to claim the title of President, and will not allow a mass- murderer to be protected by those he bought out. This is Freedom TV, signing off."  
  
"Holy crap man, that was good," Mark said, slightly stunned. "When is this going to run?"  
  
"It just did," Ken smiled.  
  
"That was on the air?" Matt asked as Ken nodded. "How often is it going to run?"  
  
"On the hour for the next eight hours, coast to coast, varying between three major networks. I think our message will get out. We'll just have to wait and see what happens next," he replied.  
  
"You are a genius. Now I know why we pay you the big bucks," Matt said as Ken smiled.  
  
"Just doing my part to protect the good old U.S. of A. from dirty murdering scum," he answered. "Now it's up to the homefront to come through for us."  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
The White House  
Washington D.C., Maryland  
August 19, 2001 7:04 PM  
  
"Here's what we think of your coup!" a protestor yelled outside the gates of the White House. People were gathered around the gates, being carefully watched by armed Secret Service agents, to ensure no one tried to rush the White House. "Give us our country back!"  
  
"Yeah!" someone echoed, as the crowd continued growing. President Evans looked out through the bulletproof glass window at the scene unfolding outside, and slammed his fist down on his desk.  
  
"Spencer promised that his people in the military would have these crowds under control," he growled to the three aides in his room. They had been the people who had approached him with Spencer's hundred million dollar offer, so he felt comfortable enough to use his name in front of them.  
  
"They've only been out there for a little while," one aide responded. "Give the military some time to get organized and deployed. It wouldn't look good for us if the military stormed in here and shot those people up, especially if someone out there has a camera."  
  
"The media has given us enough problems, especially that Freedom TV advertisement. I've been getting reports of people out in the street in cities all over the country. It wasn't supposed to be like this. They were supposed to be cheering for me, coming in to restore order after Bush's dealings with terrorists. Now they're out there calling for my head," Evans replied as he sat down at his desk in the Oval Office.  
  
"You could always go on the air, deny everything. We need to get the people back on your side," the second aide replied. "Give them a reason to rally behind you. Something that even the ones who have doubts about you would support."  
  
"The nation is rising up against us. What would you suggest I do about it?" Evans asked as he looked up at the aide.  
  
"How would the people react if the U.S. was attacked. The majority of the people still believe the S.T.A.R.S. are responsible for the outbreaks in Raccoon and Shoreline. What would happen if another city fell, as retaliation for driving them out of the country? The public would rally behind you, call for their heads," the aide answered with a sly grin.  
  
"They wouldn't believe the S.T.A.R.S. were responsible, not after that Freedom TV segment. They'd realize that I ordered the outbreak, to try and win back the public. It'd never work," Evans replied.  
  
"We could make it work. We could get experts to say that those pictures were fake, and the surveillance video doctored. Plus we know the segment originated somewhere in Canada. We could go public with the Prime Minister's threats against us, and send in the troops to find the S.T.A.R.S. and SOC. Once they're dead, we can manage the unrest until the hotheads cool down, and everything returns back to normal," the aide said as Evans smiled a bit.  
  
"It might actually work. But what city would we destroy?" he asked, still not ready to commit fully to the idea.  
  
"Dallas. Between the rogue S.T.A.R.S. from there and some ill-placed loyalty to Bush they'd make a perfect target. Not to mention they'd serve as an example to the other people protesting us. We could get some forged documents, some doctored photos making it look like the Dallas S.T.A.R.S. had returned, and released the virus through the city. Then we have a press conference, you announce that the virus was reported and Dallas had to be nuked, and the smart protestors will get the hint. We round up the ones that are still against you, and the American public is back behind you 100 percent. Before we do that though, you have to answer the Freedom TV segment. If you don't, the people really will believe it's true. I'll call Spencer and get the plans made for Dallas. All you have to do is speak to your people in the media, and they'll make you look like the reincarnation of Jesus himself," the aide suggested.  
  
"Make it happen," Evans finally said. "The American people need to realize that this is for their benefit."  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
SOC Alpha Site  
August 20, 2001 2:41 PM  
  
"We've got everything ready to go for the mission," Greg said as Ian nodded. "Our pilots went with the S.T.A.R.S. when they left late afternoon, and called in earlier today to say that they'll be ready when it's time for them to lift off."  
  
"And they know to fly below radar coverage?" Ian asked as Greg nodded in the affirmative. "Good. I don't think there're any other concerns I had for this mission. Make sure everyone is rested up and ready to go."  
  
"Sir! You need to see this! It's Dallas, and it's bad!" an aide yelled, getting Ian's attention. He had a monitor switched on to MSNBC, which showed a mushroom cloud in the distance, with the caption of "Terrorists Strike in Dallas" on the bottom of the screen.  
  
"What the Jesus happened there?" Ian asked as a reporter began speaking.  
  
"This is Larry Vincent, reporting live from the White House where the President just held a press conference. We're going to play a segment of that conference for you now," the reporter said as the picture switched over to a very pale-looking Franklin Evans.  
  
"My fellow Americans, it is with a heavy heart that I must address you today. At 4:13 this morning, we received positive confirmation that a highly contagious virus had spread through Dallas, Texas. Top officials from the Center for Disease Control advised me that the virus could not be contained by conventional methods, so I was forced to order the deployment of two strategic nuclear weapons to prevent the infection from spreading. This was the same virus that infected Shoreline and Raccoon City, and the same people who were proven responsible for those attacks are at fault here. The FBI, working in conjunction with the Central Intelligence Agency and the Border Patrol, identified two points in which members of the renegade Dallas S.T.A.R.S. team penetrated the U.S.-Mexico border. Witnesses reported seeing biohazardous material tanks in their vehicles, and we managed to recover one of the vehicles that they used to travel to and from Dallas. Extensive testing produced DNA evidence linking the Dallas S.T.A.R.S. to the vehicle, and a half-emptied container containing a highly infectious virus was found in the trunk. I have already spoken to the Secretary of Defense, and he has concurred with me that it is time to bring these monsters to justice. I have already spoken with the Prime Minister of Canada, who expressed sorrow and sympathy for the innocent people who died in Dallas. However, he refused to allow U.S. troops to cross the border and hunt down those responsible. I am calling for an immediate meeting of the United Nations Security Council to pass a resolution condemning Canada, and authorizing the U.S. to use all necessary force to bring these mass murderers to justice. Good morning," he concluded as he walked off the podium.  
  
"I don't believe it. He actually had the nerve to spread the viruses in Dallas, and nuke the city. For Christ's sake, how many more people have to die for Evans?" Mark asked, as he pounded a table with his fist.  
  
"Ken," Matt said through gritted teeth, "Get another episode of Freedom TV ready to roll right now. If Evans is going to declare war on the American people, it's time for him to start feeling the hurt at home."  
  
"With pleasure Matt. If you thought the last one was good, this one is going to be godlike," Ken said as he jogged off to begin putting the program together.  
  
"He's really done it. He's gone over the line. Ken, no mercy!" Matt called out as Ken waved to acknowledge that he had heard him.  
  
"Should we postpone our attack? Maybe we should give Ken some time to win the public relations war before we start shooting up Umbrella," Dan said as Mark looked at him.  
  
"Postpone? We can't afford to. This madman is murdering millions of people to pursue a vendetta against us. He needs to go down, and hard. We can't allow him to nuke cities!" he yelled, causing everyone to turn and look at him.  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
Location Unknown  
August 20, 2001 5:03 PM  
  
"I wish that this broadcast could come to you under happier circumstances. Unfortunately, the illegitimate government of the United States has continued its war against the American people. This attack was not the responsibility of the Dallas S.T.A.R.S., as Franklin Evans would have you believe. The Dallas S.T.A.R.S. are now, and have been for two months, in Canada, fighting for all of you in the States. There is a war going on even now, between Umbrella and those who want the weapons they produce, and a handful of honest people who have had their lives destroyed by Umbrella. If you had seen some of the nightmares that we have had to confront as we carry on this battle, you would be better able to understand why the American people cannot allow Franklin Evans to rule the country. We have fought against men like him, who desire power and wealth and don't mind signing away millions of lives for it, some of us for three years. We have been forced to sever all ties with our families, our loved ones, our friends and our neighbors. Why? Because it is right. Because we cannot sit back and allow men who revel in the slaughter of innocents to rule a nation of free peoples, maintaining power with the iron fist of oppression and the threat of mass slaughter from nuclear and biological weapons. We will not allow our homes to be vaporized, until all that is left of this great nation are ruins, caused by a madman's desperate struggle to maintain the power he stole from the legitimate President of the United States. While Evans tries to force you all to accept that President Bush, and the others who managed to escape to Canada were fairly convicted in a court of law, the truth is that the average time it took from the beginning of the "trial," if you could even call it that, until the guilty verdict was returned was less than five minutes. The judges that you've heard so much about, were regional managers for Umbrella's Biological Weapons Division. The sentences for over one hundred people were the same. Death. No appeals, no public trials, no evidence and no questions asked. Evans the judge, and Spencer the executioner. This is what the United States government has become. You must not turn a blind eye to the corruption and death that are emanating from the White House. Before it is too late, we must act to save our country. We cannot allow the fate that befell Raccoon City, Shoreline and Dallas to occur again. Good night, my fellow Americans. This is Freedom TV, signing off."  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
The White House  
Washington D.C., Maryland  
August 20, 5:10 PM  
  
"Well?" Evans asked with desperation in his voice.  
  
"They're in Canada for sure. The broadcast was too well encrypted to narrow it down any further. Whoever they have working their computers is a wizard," the technician said as he closed his laptop. They had hoped that another Freedom TV broadcast would air, but Evans wasn't prepared for how quickly it came out.  
  
"You're sure that they have no idea you were able to trace the line?" Evans asked.  
  
"None whatsoever. What are you going to do now that you know for sure that they're in Canada?" the technician asked.  
  
"I'm going to call someone who can find them and make them go away for good," Evans replied as he left the room and headed back towards the Oval Office. He picked up a phone and hit the first speed dial button, then waited a moment for the phone's encryption software to finish talking to the other phone. "All we were able to confirm was that they're in Canada," he said before hanging up the phone.  
  
On the other end of the line, Andrew Spencer smiled. "Jane, please send in Xenia," he called into his intercom. A few seconds later, the mercenary entered and sat down across from Spencer.  
  
"You have something for me," she said in nearly perfect English.  
  
"Your targets have been confirmed to be in Canada. Find them, and call in our USF squads. You can go in with them if you desire, but I want some of them alive. Do what you will with the others. But let me know before you move against them," Spencer ordered as Xenia nodded.  
  
"Alive is going to cost you more," she said simply.  
  
"Bill me," Spencer replied before Xenia stood and left the room. He walked over to the window, something he had been doing a lot lately, and began thinking about the events of the last few months. 'Finally, we have the SOC and S.T.A.R.S. at the end of their rope. After a few more days at the most, they'll be dead and no more worry to me. Thank God.'  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
SOC Alpha Site  
August 20, 2001 10:14 PM  
  
"You've got mail!" the computer chimed as Matt stirred on the couch in his office. He looked over at the screen and debated for a few minutes, before deciding that he wouldn't get any more sleep anyway. He checked the sender's name, and saw that it wasn't anyone he recognized. He was about to delete the message when he saw what its topic was. 'Freedom TV?' he thought to himself. 'Is this someone's idea of a joke?' He opened the message, and began to read it aloud to himself.  
  
"Matt, while the last episode of Freedom TV was extremely moving, it also allowed Evans to confirm that you are in Canada. It will still be safe to attack the Ottawa facility, but immediately afterward the SOC is going to need to lie low. If you don't, they will find you. Spencer hired a mercenary to come to Canada with the sole purpose of discovering the Alpha Site's location. She will comb the entire country until she either finds you, or is convinced that you were never there. The latter is preferable, but in all honesty, the former is probable. Feel free to show this e-mail to Ian and Mr. Westings, as they both know who I am now. Your friend, John," he read, going from curiosity to despair by the end of the short message. He printed a copy off, and began searching for Ian and Westings. He finally found both of them talking in Ian's office, conveniently.  
  
"Mr. Ryan, it's good to see you again," Westings said as Matt quietly closed the door to the office. "What's wrong?" he asked, seeing the paper in his hand.  
  
"I just received an e-mail from a friend of mine who's helped us out a great deal. Here," he answered, handing the letter to Westings, who then passed it to Ian.  
  
"I don't believe it!" Ian exclaimed. Westings maintained a neutral expression on his face, but the way he shifted his stance indicated that he was worried. "At least she'll have the whole country to search. But John's right, after Ottawa we have to lie low. With any luck, we can stay hidden until the Freedom TV broadcasts stir up the people back home, and give Evans a real heart attack."  
  
"The next time I see John, I'm going to have to give him a huge thank you for everything he's done for us," Matt said with a smile. "Now that we know they're coming, we can start preparing to give Umbrella's mercenary a very warm reception. What was it that they said in Dune? I believe it went along the lines of, "Knowing there's a trap is the first step in avoiding it." I definitely think that applies here. If Umbrella finally does show up, they're going to seriously regret messing with us."  
  
"I don't think I could've put it better myself Matt," Ian said with a smile. "I think it's about time to do the final pre-mission checks, and take out that Ottawa facility."  
  
"They're never going to know what hit them," Matt said as he left the office to round up the Team leaders and make sure they were ready to go. It was time to hit Spencer back.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
And there you have it, Chapter Eleven. I'm sorry it took so long to write it, but I had this chapter about halfway done, didn't like the way it looked, rewrote it, then decided to change the ending because it wasn't that good. On the whole I think it turned out much better than before, and I especially like the Freedom TV bits. They really helped to capture some of the atmosphere of the story, and I like the way they turned out.  
  
And now for a little update from my Author's Notes for this chapter. I got my SAT scores today (November 15) and am happy to report a 1330. Go me!  
  
And anytime anyone has a question about this story (or you even want to take a guess at what's going to happen next, like Rhys D has done so successfully, or who the mystery person who's remaining behind to monitor the SOC and S.T.A.R.S. is), a comment, a suggestion, or anything else like that, feel free to write me. I'll be more than happy to respond, and I love getting e-mails or reviews from people, because it lets me know this story is being read and appreciated. Of course, it doesn't hurt any when I feel like procrastinating, and know that people are depending on my getting this story written. So please, review, e-mail me, do anything short of make threatening phone calls (if you do I'll set the SOC on you!) to keep my lazy butt in front of the computer working on this story (boy, isn't that ironic. Usually you try to get lazy people away from the computer. Just my attempt at an end of chapter joke. Feel free to laugh any time now. Anyone?) Anyway, time for what you've just wasted about twenty or thirty minutes of your life looking forward to: the COMING ATTRACTIONS!  
  
Next Chapter: We're going back to shooting stuff and lots of explosions (finally!) as the SOC and S.T.A.R.S. launch their attack against Umbrella's Ottawa facility. Xenia begins her search in Canada for the Alpha Site, as the SOC tries to hold on long enough for the sparks of rebellion to ignite in the United States. Will Evans be overthrown before he can deploy the U.S. military to Canada to aid Umbrella, or is it already too late for the SOC? Find out next time in Operation: Falling S.T.A.R.S. Chapter Twelve: The Best Laid Plans 


	12. The Best Laid Plans

Disclaimer: Capcom owns Resident Evil and everything associated with it. All author-submitted characters are owned by their creators. Anything that I come up with for the enhancement of this story belongs to me.  
  
Author's Notes: I'd like to start off with an apology to all of my readers. Upon reading through the last chapter after I posted it, I decided that parts of it didn't really mesh with the path I wanted this story to take. There's going to be a re-edited and revised Chapter 11 up sometime soon. It's going to be a little shorter, but an improvement over what was posted. Again, I apologize for any harm that chapter caused, and to anyone who's suffered a warping of their fragile little minds (As Cartman would say).  
  
I'd also like to thank all of the non-flaming reviewers I have (I'll get to my rant on those scum later on), and everyone who's e-mailed me about this story. It's been a pleasure writing for all of you, and I'm looking forward to being able to continue doing so. The layout I have for the rest of this story (I mean up until the end of 2001) is going to be one very violent, crazy ride of death and destruction. To all of my readers I have this to say; hang on tight. This chapter is going to start a non-stop (for the most part) block of action that's going to take this story right up to the end of this part. Of course, I'm going to throw an updated roster and personnel brief into the mix to slow the pace down a bit, because the rest of this year is going to be insane.  
  
And in other news, it's been brought to my attention that a handful of dirtbags are going around flaming authors. While it saddens me to hear this, I guess it can be expected (in other words, this is going to be my little monologue about the decay of the Internet as morons are allowed access to it), though not welcome. In recent years, the flamer problem has arrived, developed, and come to a point where it has started to spill out from random Internet forums, onto the more-respectable areas of the web. That it has arrived on FF.net is a clear sign indicating how far this problem has spread. Of course, there are numerous solutions to this problem, some more legal than others.  
  
Hunt them down and shoot them (Satisfying yet illegal, 100% effective) Ignore them (Not too satisfying, legal yet only marginally effective) Flame/Fight back (Marginally satisfying, mostly legal, ineffective) Go to the admin (Not very satisfying, legal, ineffective unless the site admin lays down an IP ban)  
  
There are many more things that I could've added to the list, but I think that gets my point across. Flamers are a problem that (unfortunately) it seems the respectable members of the Internet community are going to have to put up with for the foreseeable future. Isn't the freedom of speech wonderful? Now if only we could ship the flamers to an oppressive third- world country and let the third-worlders take care of our problems. This concludes my monologue. Back to the story we go.  
  
Operation: Falling S.T.A.R.S.  
  
Chapter Twelve: The Best Laid Plans  
  
Umbrella Inc. Ottawa Facility  
Perimeter Security Detail Alpha  
August 21, 2001 1:06 AM  
  
"This job sucks," Paul Young said as he kicked a pebble that lay on the inside of the compound's electric fence. "And this shift sucks too."  
  
"You've got that right," the guard accompanying him, Vance O'Keily replied. They had both been assigned the early morning watch, after having the late afternoon shift the day before. They were tired, and had other places that they would much rather be.  
  
"At least we're only going to be out here for a few more minutes," Paul said as he checked the safety on his G3 assault rifle, making sure that it was engaged. "I don't want to have any accidents," he explained as he motioned to a pair of turbines half-buried in the ground, "especially around these generators. If they go down, those freaks in the Shop of Horrors are going to be out, and I don't want to be around if that happens."  
  
"Me either," Vance replied with a shudder. The Shop of Horrors was what the guards took to calling the B.O.W. storage level in the facility, after several of them were called down to kill an escapee. Only three of the fifteen men sent down there returned alive, and the ones that did were so mentally traumatized by the experience that they were of no further use to the company.  
  
"Did you hear something?" Paul asked as he held up his hand. The wind was blowing slightly as Vance strained to make out any sounds in the background. "There it is again." The sound seemed to be coming from the other side of the electric fence, as Paul clicked off his rifle's safety, moving the selector lever to automatic fire.  
  
"Should we call it in?" Vance asked. The reason he had been assigned to this facility was because he had failed to notify the security center when he heard some twigs breaking outside a facility in Iowa, which had promptly come under attack from the renegade S.T.A.R.S. At the time, he considered himself very lucky that he had only been transferred, until he discovered how ill secured the B.O.W.s in the facility were. There had already been three escapes in the two months he had been working there, and rumor had it that an USF squad had been brought in to oversee security on- site to make sure that if another one occurred, there wouldn't be a mass slaughter like the previous times.  
  
"No. Whatever it was, it's gone now. We can always put it in our report," Paul replied as he re-engaged his rifle's safety and went back to walking his patrol route. He barely managed to take two steps before a hole the size of a baseball erupted from the side of his skull. Vance barely had enough time to register what had occurred before the world went black.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
"Two targets down. West side is clear of hostiles," Dan called over the radio net as he pulled the bolt on his .50 caliber sniper rifle back, loading a fresh round into the chamber. He had taken the first shot and was slightly disappointed to see that he had shot a little higher than his aim- point, hitting the guard just above the ear instead of right at the jaw line. He didn't have a clear shot at the second one, but someone else obviously did, judging by the second body cooling along the electric fence.  
  
"Copy that. All other sides report zero hostiles on the perimeter. Entry teams, proceed," Matt called over the radio. Dan reached up and switched his goggles from thermal to night vision in time to watch one of the entry teams approach the electric fence and place a pair of clamps about five feet across from each other. Two of them pulled out wire cutters and began clipping through the fence while the others scanned the inside of the compound, watching for any guards that might unexpectedly show up.  
  
"Green is through the fence and entering the facility grounds," Greg called as Ken and Zach stepped back, letting the rest of the team through the hole in the fence as they readied their weapons and brought up the rear. The Blue entry team was composed of SOC Teams 1 and 2 along with the S.T.A.R.S. Alpha team, and SOC Teams 3 and 6 along with the S.T.A.R.S. Bravo team formed Green. Team 4, along with Team 5 and Dan, were spread out in the trees surrounding the facility, manning either sniper rifles like Dan currently was, or heavy machine guns.  
  
"Blue is inside the fence and holding on the facility grounds. Leapfrog to the assigned breaching points on my mark. Three, two, one, mark!" Matt called. Half of the Blue and Green teams moved forwards crouched down, stopping after fifty yards to cover the advance of the next halves. This continued until both teams reached their breaching points, being careful to avoid or neutralize security cameras before they were spotted.  
  
"Green holding at the loading docks," Greg called as he finished placing a breaching charge on the employee access door.  
  
"Blue's ready to roll. Let's light 'em up," Matt said as two of the S.T.A.R.S. stepped past him and tossed flashbang grenades into the front lobby. They went off, followed two seconds later by the explosives Greg set on the door. He stepped through the smoking remains of the door and saw a pair of workers running farther into the facility. He crouched and jogged up to a stack of shipping crates on the floor, taking cover behind them as the remainder of the team entered the building.  
  
"Loading docks are secure. Moving to first primary objective," Greg called as he flipped his goggles down and set them to thermal mode, scanning for any approaching guards. The hallway leading to the storage rooms was clear, so he waved the team forward. They stacked up outside the door, and waited for Ken to slide a fiber-optic camera under the door.  
  
"Looks clear," he said before pulling back and tucking the camera back into a utility pocket. Zach tested the knob, and pushed the door open slowly. The team stepped in and fanned out, taking cover and scanning the room before continuing forward, from cover to cover.  
  
"Contact," One of the S.T.A.R.S. called as a half-dozen guards came running into the room. They were clearly poorly trained, as the first thing they did upon entering the room was open fire. The people that were between pieces of cover dove for protection from the storm of bullets as the others shot back. Two guards went down before the others smartened up and found cover themselves. Greg unclipped a grenade from his belt and lobbed it toward the crates that three of the guards were hiding behind, and had the satisfaction of seeing two of them stand up and try to run for safety. They were picked off before they could even get out from behind the crates, as the third guard tried to throw the grenade back towards the entry team. Just as his hand closed around it the grenade exploded, sending shrapnel through his body. The last guard had no wish to continue fighting after the other five men in his party were so brutally slaughtered, and chose to surrender. Two men peeled off from the team to disarm him and guard the room as the others proceeded deeper into the facility.  
  
"Green has arrived at the first objective," Greg called out as two S.T.A.R.S. members kicked in the door to the elevator room, which had already been scanned by Ken's fiber-optic camera and revealed to be clear of guards.  
  
"Blue has encountered resistance, will be at the objective shortly," Matt replied as Greg heard two muffled explosions over the radio. While a part of him wanted to go help, Greg also knew that other than the stairs that the Blue team was heading for, this elevator bank was the only way to reach the lower levels of the facility. Leaving them unguarded was openly inviting any guards on the lower level to come up and flank them.  
  
It was a simple plan that they had come up with to clear the facility and set the self-destruct. The Blue team would fight through to the stairway, then proceed down to the second subbasement. Once they arrived they were going to head to the elevator bank on that floor, and secure it until the Green team arrived. Once they were down, the Blue team would return to the stairs and head to third subbasement, and set the self- destruct timer. This would allow both security substations to be engaged at the same time, so one group of guards wouldn't be able to reinforce the other as it was attacked. Before any of that though, the Blue team would take down the primary security station, which was located across from the access door for the stairs on the ground floor, and leave two people behind to guard that way out.  
  
"Resistance eliminated," Matt said a few minutes later. "Moving on to first objective." After a few minutes, Greg heard more explosions, much closer than the last time, as the Blue team began its attack on the security station. After that brief bit of fighting, there was silence again for five minutes, until Matt came back on the radio. "Second objective secure. Come on down fellas."  
  
"Roger that. Let's get a move on gents," Greg said as he pushed the call buttons for three elevators. He backed away from them as they rose, and took up a position where he could fire into them if any guards happened to be there when the doors opened. The elevators arrived, all three empty, and the team filed into them. After thirty seconds, the descent stopped and the doors opened. They spread out, and took cover in case any guards showed up. Greg nodded to Matt when everyone was in position, and he pulled his team back to the stairs to continue down into the facility. When they were gone, Greg gestured for the team to move down the right-side hallway, leading towards the security substation. Two guards showed up at the end of the hallway and fired at the team before pulling back around the corner.  
  
"Anyone hit?" Greg asked as he did a quick visual scan. Everyone scrambled for cover when the guards popped up, and it seemed that their accuracy was bad enough to allow them to miss everyone. "Give me some smoke at the end of the corridor." Two smoke grenades were rolled down the hallway, hitting the wall and coming to a stop before discharging their contents. A thick smokescreen settled in the whole hallway, since the ventilation on this level was insufficient to disperse the smoke quickly. He flipped his goggles back down and switched them over to thermal, and carefully began to creep down the hallway. He peeked around the corner when he reached it, and saw a handful of guards upending a large table to use for cover.  
  
"Grenadier," Greg called as one of the S.T.A.R.S., James Collins, stepped forward. He slung his M4 carbine onto his back, and loaded some shells into a Cobra grenade launcher. Greg pointed down the hallway, and James nodded when he saw the guards that were taking cover. "Flush 'em out," he added as James stepped cautiously out into the hallway and shouldered the grenade launcher. He fired two rounds, one of which hit the table, the other striking the ground just in front of it. The first shot shattered the makeshift barricade the guards were using, and the second sent shrapnel flying into the guards that survived the first explosion.  
  
"Looks clear," James said as he stepped back behind cover and shouldered his M4.  
  
"Let's get moving then," Greg replied as they continued on towards the security station, passing the burning remains of the table and the shattered corpses of the guards. They finally arrived at the door to the substation, luckily avoiding any other confrontations with the guards. Ken scanned the room with the fiber-optic camera, and held up three fingers, indicating three guards in the room. Greg nodded, and motioned for Zach to get a frag grenade ready. "On three," he whispered as Zach nodded. He counted down silently, and pulled the door open. Zach pitched the grenade in and Greg pulled it shut before any of the guards could react to what was happening. The grenade detonated, and Greg re-opened the door, to take care of any survivors. Luckily for them, the grenade didn't leave any. He walked over to the computers and saw that two of them were still functional, and able to monitor the level's security cameras.  
  
"Second primary objective reached and secured. Moving on to secondary," he called as he motioned for two men to stay behind and defend the substation until the others returned. If time allowed, they had come up with a set of secondary objectives for each team. The Green team was going to try and gain access to the virus testing labs on their level, and attempt to recover virus samples. The Blue team was going to search for files on the third subbasement, but since they were already running behind, Greg didn't think it was going to happen.  
  
"Copy that. Blue team is within sight of second primary. Make it quick," Matt replied. If they were in sight of the security station already, then they had almost caught up with Greg's team.  
  
"Let's hurry it up people," he said as they began walking down the level's main hallway.  
  
"You have two guards waiting in ambush at the next intersection," came a voice through his earpiece. At first he didn't know where it came from, until he remembered the men they left in the security office. They had access to the security cameras now, taking an important advantage away from the Umbrella guards on the level. Greg waved the grenadier forward again, and whispered, "Napalm," before taking cover at the corner before the targeted intersection. James nodded, and replaced two of the shells in the launcher with the incendiary rounds. He kneeled down and fired, causing the sides of the intersection to burst into flames.  
  
"That got 'em," the S.T.A.R.S. member monitoring the security cameras said. Suddenly, gunshots erupted to their left. Greg leaned out and saw another half-dozen guards taking cover at the corners of the intersection and firing down the corridor at them.  
  
'They must have thermal goggles,' he thought to himself, since the smoke grenades that they had set off so far behind them seemed to have filled the whole level with smoke. He leaned out again and fired his USAS down the hallway at the guards, killing one before having to pull back. James leaned out and sent another pair of grenades down the corridor, causing a second firestorm to burst into existence.  
  
"I don't think that got all of them," he said. "The second shot was about six feet short of the left side of the intersection. Their vision should be messed up though."  
  
"Let's take advantage of the reprieve and get moving before they blindside us again. Frank, Eddie, keep 'em pinned down," Greg said as he motioned to the two S.T.A.R.S. that had kicked in the elevator room's doors earlier. They kept a fairly constant stream of fire going down the intersection, until everyone else made it to the other side. Once the others were clear, they slowed down their firing, trying to bait the guards into leaving their protection. One man did, and promptly fell, with three 5.56-mm bullets in his upper torso. The other stuck the barrel of his gun around the corner and fired back, but didn't risk moving.  
  
"That's good enough guys. We're at the door to the lab," Greg called as the two S.T.A.R.S. left their cover and rejoined the main body of the team. Not in the mood to waste any more time, or wanting to release the viruses by detonating a grenade in the room, Greg smashed the glass door to the lab with the butt of his USAS and let his team clear the room. The room was empty except for the millions of dollars worth of hi-tech equipment set up to create and test the viruses. "Fan out and find the virus storage," he added.  
  
"Got it," Zach said as he found a keypad-locked safe in the wall. Zach removed the keypad, and Ken walked over and hooked up his wrist- mounted computer to the keypad's wires.  
  
"I'll have the lock overridden in thirty seconds," he called as Greg nodded.  
  
"How are you guys doing Matt?" he asked.  
  
"At the final objective. We're waiting on you guys," he said as Greg smiled.  
  
"Thanks for being so considerate. Ken's overriding the lock on the safe with the viruses right now. We'll be ready in two minutes," he replied. Ken unhooked the computer from the wires and pulled the door to the safe open. Inside was eight vials, organized into four pairs.  
  
"We've got T- and G-virus samples, and the respective anti-virals," Ken said matter-of-factly.  
  
"And here's a transport case for 'em," Zach said as he pulled a suitcase out from underneath a nearby table. He opened it up, revealing the padded interior of the case, which had fourteen empty slots for virus vials in it. Ken loaded the vials into the case, and closed it up.  
  
"Let's get out of here," he said as he tucked the suitcase under his left arm, and pulled a MAC-11 out of his hip holster.  
  
"This is Green," Greg called into the radio, "Secondary objective complete. Heading for evac."  
  
"See you topside," Matt replied. A few seconds later, a computerized voice filled the halls.  
  
"Attention. Self-destruct sequence had been activated. Facility will self-destruct in thirty minutes. All personnel are instructed to evacuate. Repeat, self-destruct has been activated." The message continued in the background as the team hurried through intersections, heading back towards the stairs. In the planning phases they had considered just going back up the elevator, but if any guards were waiting upstairs for them, it would be a massacre the moment the doors opened.  
  
"Quincy, Walter, take the prisoner and get to the evac point. Larry, Nevin, meet us at the stairs." Greg called, letting the two S.T.A.R.S. all the way back in the storage room know it was time for them to pull out, along with the two men in the security substation.  
  
"Copy that. See you there boss," Walter replied. The team reached the staircase in the mean time, waited for Larry and Nevin, and began to proceed much more carefully when they returned. They had completely bypassed the first subbasement and whatever guards were there, and didn't clear the remainder of the ground floor after entering the facility, which was the reason Greg wanted to take his time from this point on. It had been considered a necessary risk in the interest of speed. Knocking out the primary security station and the two substations was deemed more important than slogging through each room on the ground floor and the first subbasement. While it allowed the guards on the first subbasement to get organized to mount a counter-attack, the benefit of having all three security stations and their accompanying armories neutralized was more important. They reached the door to the ground floor, and Greg pushed it open as he heard people in the stairs a level below him. He looked over the rail and saw the Blue team ascending, along with two prisoners of their own.  
  
"Go," Greg whispered as Zach pushed the door open. They saw the two members of the Blue team that were left behind in the security station snap to attention, before realizing that their comrades had returned. They fell in with the rest of their team as they headed back towards the front lobby. Greg led his people back towards the loading dock, which allowed both teams to leave the facility simultaneously, and not have to worry about one ambush pinning them all in place. As they got closer to the storage room, Greg heard a pair of explosions ahead.  
  
"Let's move people," he said as he picked up his pace, jogging towards the room. They arrived in time to see that at least two dozen guards were pinning down Quincy and Walter on the other end of the room. The prisoner they had taken earlier was sprawled over two crates, with several bullet wounds in him.  
  
"Looks like you guys could use a hand," Greg said over the radio as the rest of the Green team entered the room, taking cover and catching the guards in a crossfire.  
  
"It'd sure be appreciated," Quincy replied as he fired a shot from his Remington pump-action shotgun. The guards were outgunned, and very soon outnumbered as they were picked off one by one. Greg had slung his USAS over his shoulder and was now using his P-90, taking advantage of the sub- machinegun's higher rate of fire and magazine capacity. He had just settled his sights on an exposed guard when he felt something smash into the back of his helmet, sending the world into darkness.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
"Greg's hit!" Aaron Watkins yelled over the radio, causing Matt to pause mid-stride.  
  
"How badly? And where are you?" he asked, waving for their entry team to hold up. They spread out around him, covering both ends of the hallway.  
  
"I can't tell from here," Aaron replied. "It looks like he took a round to the head. A second team of guards hit us from behind. They're much better organized, and heavily armed. We're in the storeroom, and need some backup."  
  
"We're on the way. Just hold on," Matt said before unclipping a walkie-talkie from his belt. "Alpha 1-1, this is Blue team. Requesting you make a pass over the storeroom in the main building, and supply suppression fire."  
  
"We aren't going to be able to tell friend from foe up here," the pilot for the lead S.T.A.R.S. helicopter replied. "Do you have some way of marking the targets?"  
  
"Do you guys have thermal goggles up there?" Matt asked, before receiving an affirmative reply from the pilot. "Good. We're going to set off some incendiaries as close to their position as possible. Let me warn the other team."  
  
"Aaron," Matt spoke into his radio as he clipped the walkie-talkie back onto his belt, "Did you catch all of that?"  
  
"Enough of it. We're popping the incendiaries right now. Tell them the Umbrella guards are breathing right down our necks, and that they'd better be darn sure of their targets," Aaron answered as Matt's entry team began jogging back towards the storeroom.  
  
"I think they'll be able to tell," Matt said as he began to hear the vicious firefight that was occurring somewhere ahead of him. He hoped that they would be able to arrive in time to rescue the others from the ambush, before they took any more casualties.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
"This is Alpha 1-1. I've got a visual on the incendiaries. Gunners, make your shots count," the pilot spoke as he brought the Black Hawk down to a mere fifty feet above the facility's roof. The gunners on both sides of the helicopter leaned out slightly, still anchored by the cables connecting them to the helicopter. They both swung their M-249 SAW machine guns as far downward as possible, and scanned through the roof with thermal goggles, seeking targets to engage without putting friendlies at risk.  
  
"Port side has no shot," the gunner on the left side of the helicopter replied. The Umbrella guards had gotten so close to the positions occupied by the Green team that the recoil produced by the weapon would most likely have him spraying bullets through friendly as well as enemy soldiers.  
  
"Starboard is lined up and firing," the right-side gunner said before gently squeezing the trigger on his machine gun. Bullets roared out of the barrel, leaving behind angry red streaks in his thermally enhanced vision. He gently shifted the weapon left and right, saturating the roof, and the Umbrella guards below with bullets. "Changing magazine," he called as the pilot began rotating the helicopter to allow the other gunner to fire.  
  
"Port side is lined up and engaging," he said as his friend reloaded the SAW. Small pieces of the building's ceiling collapsed inward, cascading down on the surviving Umbrella guards. While a handful had survived the first storm of bullets unscathed, none of them were spared from the furry of the second. Bodies crumpled and were pushed into the ground as dozens of rounds tore into them, until the second gunner also emptied his magazine. "I have zero reachable targets," the gunner said over the helicopter's intercom. In his chair, the pilot nodded slightly before bringing the helicopter up to a higher altitude and resuming the racetrack pattern he had been flying around the complex.  
  
"Copy that. This is Alpha 1-1 returning to station. We can't do any more for you right now," he said, disappointed that he couldn't go back and join the gunners in firing at the Umbrella guards.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
"Alright Alpha 1-1, thanks for the assist," Aaron said as he surveyed the damage the Black Hawk did to the Umbrella guards. The guards barring the way to the loading docks had been completely massacred, allowing the members of the Green team to entirely focus on the better-trained guards to their rear.  
  
"I'm hit!" someone called out as Aaron watched first one, then a second member of the team go down.  
  
"Who's down?" he asked as he hunched over and ran towards where the wounded men were.  
  
"Quincy and Terry," the voice of the Team 4 medic, Grant Hudson replied calmly. "Quincy took a slug in the shoulder; it isn't serious and the bleeding is under control. Terry I haven't been able to check yet, but I saw him moving a few seconds ago so it can't be too bad."  
  
"Okay. We should have this mess cleaned up in a few minutes. Has anyone been able to check Greg yet?" Aaron replied as he leaned out from behind the crate he was using for cover, and hit two guards trying to flank Grant as he provided aid to Quincy. John Paulson crawled over to Terry, received a thumbs-up from him, and provided cover fire as he crawled towards a position further away from the guards.  
  
"Negative. The area around Greg is still too hot to get in to. Does anyone have a visual on him?" Larry asked as he popped up to fire at a pair of guards, missing them both before having to take cover from their retaliatory barrage.  
  
"I can see him from here," Nevin said as he leaned out around the crate quickly, exposing himself to the guards for an instant while checking on the condition of their team leader. "He isn't moving, and it looks like there's blood leaking out from his helmet."  
  
"I need to get over there right away," Grant said as he crawled over to the crate that Zach was defending.  
  
"Ken, Zach and John, lay down some heavy duty suppressive fire," Aaron said, taking control of the situation. "I'll go with you Grant. On three," he said before motioning a countdown with his left hand. When he reached zero, Ken, Zach and John leaned out and opened up on the guards, buying enough time for Grant and Aaron to reach Greg.  
  
"Let's see how bad it is," Grant said as he slowly lifted the visor to Greg's helmet. Instead of seeing a bullet wound like he expected, he saw only Greg bleeding heavily from the nose. Grant removed Greg's helmet, and saw that it was, surprisingly, still intact. Then he noticed the huge gouge cut into the side of the helmet, and whistled slightly before sliding his index finger into the gouge. Lengthwise his finger fit, and it nearly fit depth-wise as well. "I don't believe it. I saw DefTek assembling these things once," Grant continued, "and this silver streak here," he said pointing to the gouge, "is the last layer of armor in the helmet. It looks like someone hit him with a glancing blow, or at least not dead-on. He's probably got a concussion."  
  
"Thanks for caring," Greg said as he slowly looked up, and reached for his helmet. "Now we're still under fire, and that self-destruct timer has got to be running low. Any idea how we're getting out of here yet?"  
  
"We were worried about making sure everyone made it out alive first," Aaron replied as he slid the helmet back over Greg's head, and taking a moment to survey the surroundings. As far as he could tell, they were almost exactly between the surviving Umbrella guards and the safety of the Green team. "Matt and the Blue team should be here any minute now."  
  
"Good," Greg said as he picked up his P-90 from where it lay on the ground, eager to get back in the fighting.  
  
"I can't let you back in Greg," Grant said as he placed his hand on the weapon. "In all likelihood you have a concussion."  
  
"I'm fine," he said as he leaned around the crate and emptied a clip into the remaining guards' positions. "Matt, where are you?"  
  
"Ready to kick these guys in the rear. Glad to hear you're okay Greg," Matt replied. Several explosions detonated among the Umbrella guards as the Blue team finally arrived, sweeping through and effectively ending their resistance. The handful of survivors from the counter-attack surrendered, and were disarmed by whoever was closest to them.  
  
"Glad to be okay. I could ask what took you guys so long, but I won't," he answered with a slight smile. "Now let's get out of here. Anyone know what the countdown is at?" he asked as he began walking towards the exit, steadied by Aaron.  
  
"We've got about nine minutes left. Plenty of time. And to answer the question you didn't want to ask, on the way over we met up with some friends of the B.O.W. and USF varieties," Matt added, with a smile as well. "Alpha 1-1, bring the birds in. We're ready to go home."  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
New York City, New York  
United Nations Building  
August 23, 2001 10:04 AM  
  
"Mr. Prime Minister, we meet again," Roberts said with a sneer as he looked at the Prime Minister, seated across from him in the same conference room that four days earlier found them both in the exact opposite positions from those that they currently occupied.  
  
"Unfortunately it isn't a pleasure to do so," he replied submissively.  
  
"Whatever do you mean? You should be happy that a very dangerous terrorist organization is going to be removed from your soil," Roberts replied. The past three days had seen extremely spirited debates between the U.S. and Canadian representatives over the S.T.A.R.S. and fugitives from the U.S.  
  
"Your current government is the only terrorist organization that my country is concerned with. Wait, I forgot your masters at Umbrella. Tell me, were they the ones that came up with the idea of threatening us with a repeat of the Dallas incident?" the PM asked as Roberts looked shocked.  
  
"Whatever do you mean, Mr. Prime Minister? Wouldn't your country be safe from the terrorists, since you're harboring them after all?" he asked sarcastically.  
  
"And how was I supposed to interpret what you said to me yesterday afternoon, Mr. Roberts. I believe it went something like, "How many lives are you willing to sacrifice to protect the fugitives, Prime Minister. How many Dallas incidents can you afford before your nation is destroyed?"  
  
"Now I have no recollection of saying that Mr. Prime Minister, and it might be wise of you to forget it yourself. Now shall we proceed with the agreement?" Roberts asked, the smile returning to his face as he slid a paper towards the PM.  
  
"As you can see, the agreement is very simple. You will acknowledge the fact that Canada provided shelter to wanted fugitives, but that you were unaware they were in your country until early this morning. You will request that U.S. troops assist in apprehending the fugitives, and you won't have to worry about your career being ruined, or bombs falling on your cities." Roberts added the last bit almost as an afterthought, but the PM knew he intended to say that line all along.  
  
"Someone will put a stop to you and your government," he said, taking the paper and reading it carefully.  
  
"But it won't be you, or the S.T.A.R.S.," Roberts replied as he handed the PM a pen. "Sign here," he added, pointing to the bottom of the page.  
  
"I hope my people will be able to forgive me," the Prime Minister said sadly, before signing the paper and sliding it back over to Roberts. Roberts smiled and placed the paper into a manila envelope before pulling out a cell phone and standing up. He gathered his papers together, and hit one of the speed dial buttons on the phone, cradling it against his ear with his shoulder.  
  
"Mr. President, I have wonderful news. Our northern neighbors have seen the error of their ways, and have given us permission to go hunting for the fugitives. I know sir, and I agree; this is very good news. I'll be back in Washington to make my full report in less than two hours," he said before hanging up the phone and placing it back in his pocket. "And it's been a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Prime Minister. I'm glad you decided to see things our way." With that, he walked out of the room, laughing as he headed towards the building's exit and the awaiting limousine that would take him to the airport, and a waiting private jet for the journey back to Washington.  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
SOC Alpha Site  
August 23, 2001 12:07 PM  
  
"It's moments like this that make me wonder if there's anyone upstairs pulling for us," Mark said as he pointed towards the TV screen.  
  
"I can't believe Canada caved," Adam added. "Unless Spencer or Evans threatened them, and they didn't have anything they could use to threaten them back. I guess this was expected though."  
  
"It doesn't mean we have to like it," Mark said tersely. "We're going to have a lot of troops up here looking for us, very soon. We need to have a plan in case they're able to find us."  
  
"One's already in the works," Ian said as he joined the conversation. "Have we finally gotten a count of who hasn't made it over the border?"  
  
"Yeah," Ken replied. "Sixty-eight of us, including support personnel, have zero family members in Canada or Mexico. Seven, including myself, have some inside the U.S. still, and some over the borders. Everyone else made it across."  
  
"Not too bad for such short notice. The ones behind should be okay for the time being. Spencer and Evans are going to be too busy trying to find us to have the resources to spare to track down our families. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to speak to Matt and Serena for a few minutes," Ian said before walking off to find them. He found both of them in the gym; Serena practicing hand-to-hand combat off to one of the sides, and Matt brushing up on the floor plans to another Umbrella facility after finishing up a session with the gym's punching bag.  
  
"What do you need Ian?" Matt asked after Ian and Serena walked over to him.  
  
"No matter what we do, Evans and Spencer are going to find us, sooner or later. Whether from a ground-penetrating satellite, tracing one of our communications, or some other way, it's inevitable. I want to go over with you what we're going to do if they're able to take the Alpha Site, and I want to see what you think of a plan I came up with to strike back against Evans," Ian answered with a slight smile.  
  
"Okay," Matt replied, shutting the laptop he was working on.  
  
"If we were to lose the Alpha Site, there's a network of safehouses throughout Europe and Asia that we have access to. I'll give you a list of the locations, and I want you to make sure everyone is assigned to one of them. Make sure to include the support personnel too, and let the team leaders know where they're going. Whatever you do, don't put anything you don't have to on paper, and burn the safehouse list after you've memorized it, and are finished assigning our people to them. Now," he said, dropping his voice to a whisper, "this is something that only you the three of us are going to know about," he said. "Our analysts have gone over everything we have on Evans, and they don't think he'll surrender power peacefully. The fact that he had Dallas destroyed only reinforces their belief. We may have to take steps to eliminate his government before they can do any more harm to the American people."  
  
"You mean assassination," Matt said. Ian hesitated before nodding in the affirmative. "I don't like it, but the alternative is a lot worse. Who are we going to send across the border?"  
  
"Serena," Ian replied. "I guess it's time for you to earn your keep," he joked, causing her to smile a bit.  
  
"I think it's safe to assume that you have a way to get me into the country. With border security clamped down so tightly, I may not be able to get a hold of any weapons strong enough to get the job done," she said.  
  
"I already thought about that. To the best of my knowledge, the sensors at the border checkpoints aren't going to be able to detect a railgun, since only a handful of people know that they even exist. You'll need to get qualified on the Archangels, but I don't think you'll have a problem with that. We can easily put a hidden compartment large enough to fit the Archangel and spare ammunition into a car or truck, and camouflage it well enough to hide it from anything except some who knows exactly where to look. Intel will brief you in on the people that we know have been bought by Umbrella, and I'll let you decide in what order you want to start taking them out," Ian answered. After a few seconds of silence, he looked at both of them and broke out in laughter. Matt and Serena gave him strange looks until he stopped and explained, "I just thought about the irony of our current situation. Here I am, the Assistant Director of a branch of the CIA, authorizing one of my people to kill the leader of my country. This sounds more like something that belongs in some cheap fiction novel than real life."  
  
"This whole episode with Umbrella seems like it belongs in some sci- fi book or something. I mean, the living dead, monsters, a coup in the government, I'd expect to see this on late-night TV, not be living it," Matt added, before smiling as well. "When this is over, we could probably make a fortune off the rights to this. I guess it's true when they say that truth is stranger than fiction. The only problem is that it's so far out there that no one would ever believe it actually happened."  
  
"Who cares? I'll be happy just to make it through this," Serena said. "Although it would be interesting to see who they pick to play me if this becomes a movie." All three of them began laughing; bleeding off the stress that had been accumulating since the SOC's fight with Umbrella started all of those months ago. Several of the people that were working out in the gym turned to look at them, and stared quizzically, trying to figure out whether they had missed something incredibly funny, or their leaders had gone insane. Finally they stopped, and the onlookers went back to what they were doing.  
  
"Now we just have to go out there and win. Thanks for the laugh, I really needed that," Matt said as he turned and walked out of the gym. "I wish I could be there when Serena takes out Evans, and ends this fiasco."  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
The White House  
Washington D.C., Maryland  
August 26, 2001 7:03 AM  
  
"Mr. President, there is nothing we can do to make the search progress any faster than it currently is. We have all available satellites scouring the country for the SOC base, but we've run into some unanticipated delays," Joseph Bennett, one of President Evans' aides said.  
  
"What kind of delays?" Evans asked.  
  
"Both the SOC Headquarters and this so-called Alpha Site were constructed with the intention of remaining hidden from satellites. We sent out a survey team to the remains of their headquarters to try and figure out what would be visible from orbit, and the results were depressing at best. The headquarters and most likely the Alpha Site as well, were constructed in areas that had highly concentrated metal deposits in the soil. That made out ground-penetrating radar satellites virtually useless, except for telling us where they definitely aren't located. We have no leads to go on with visual tracking, since we have no idea what, if any, buildings they have above-ground. The only way we've been able to make any progress is with the thermal-scanning equipped satellites, and we haven't been able to get any of them in geo-synchronous orbit with Canada. In other words, we're only getting to scan four about an hour before the satellite passes out of range. For a country as large as Canada, scanning an hour at a time will take us quite a while," Bennett replied.  
  
"And there have been no electronic intercepts since the last Freedom TV segment?" Evans asked, to which Bennett replied with a short nod in the affirmative. "Have we checked the mainframes at Langley? They should have something on-file there, at least in the ex-Director's personal files on his computer."  
  
"We sent a team of agents there yesterday to search the archives for anything related to the SOC. They managed to break in to the ex-Director's computer, found his personal files and discovered a few potential hits, but the files deleted themselves before we could open or copy them," Bennett said.  
  
"What do you mean deleted themselves?" Evans asked.  
  
"I guess the files were able to detect that our people forced their way into the server, and were programmed with a sort of self-destruct, to keep unauthorized people from finding out about the SOC," Bennett answered as Evans leaned back in his chair.  
  
"So you're saying that we have nothing. All of our high-tech satellites can't find the SOC, the files concerning them were deleted because our agents are incompetent, and I have a nation full of people ready to start a revolution. Do you have any good news for me?" Evans asked, getting more frustrated as his conversation went on.  
  
"We do know where the ex-S.T.A.R.S. are. We were going to wait to move against them until the SOC was neutralized, because they are, as of right now, the bigger threat to us. If you want though, we could deploy troops to their base and take them out," Bennett said. Evans was silent for several minutes, considering his options carefully.  
  
"How long do you believe it will be until we discover the location of the SOC base?" he asked.  
  
"It could be a matter of hours, or weeks. During that time, the S.T.A.R.S. could escape, or move to reinforce their allies. Intel believes there's an upper-ninety percent chance that the S.T.A.R.S. know where the SOC base is located. The problem is that Intel also believes there's a less than five percent chance that, if captured, they will reveal the location to us," Bennett said, giving his honest opinion.  
  
"So there's a fifty-fifty chance that the S.T.A.R.S. will head to the SOC base to reinforce them. And we can track the S.T.A.R.S. if they do go to the base, so we could not only find where the SOC base is, but take out two groups of enemies at once. But if we move against the S.T.A.R.S. right now, you're telling me there's a less than five percent chance they'll tell us what we want to know," Evans said, to which Bennett nodded. "Then it's settled; we wait to see what the S.T.A.R.S. do. If they attempt to flee the country, have a team on stand-by to apprehend them, or at least slow them down until we can get more forces engaged. If they lead us to the SOC, call Spencer immediately and have his people do what they will. If Spencer's people fail, have the Air Force ready to saturation bomb the whole area. I can afford to wait for a little while. In the mean time, I have an assignment for you. There is a person currently residing in a federal penitentiary whose services I may require in the very near future. I want you to deliver this presidential pardon directly to the warden, and transport the prisoner back here so I can have a short talk with him. Time is of the essence, Mr. Bennett," Evans continued, handing him the pardon in a sealed manila envelope. "Your flight will be leaving in a half hour."  
  
"As you wish, Mr. President. Is there anything specific that you want me to tell to this person?" Bennett asked, as he slid the envelope into his briefcase.  
  
"Just that we require his services, and are prepared to compensate him fairly if he agrees to help us. That is all he needs to know for now," Evans replied, then dismissed Bennett to carry out his task. "Let's see how the SOC fares against my new expert computer hacker." He stood up and walked over to the window, gazing out over the city, and weighing the potential consequences of his decision. 'If the S.T.A.R.S. and SOC are able to survive, I won't be safe here. I need to make preparations to shift the seat of power to a secured location, and I'll need to do it soon. At least I don't have anything to worry about yet,' he thought as he turned away from the window. Before he could even take a step, a two-foot long piece of glass exploded inwards, sending slivers flying into his arm and shoulder. He fell to the ground, and managed to hit the intercom and scream for help before passing out from the pain.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * *  
  
"Missed," Serena muttered as she crawled back, away from the edge of the roof. She had a perfect shot at Evans, but between him moving and the supposedly bullet-proof glass the window was made of, the aluminum spike had been knocked off-course just enough to miss Evan's head. She had seen the projectile impact, and knew that even though he had begun moving, she had been less than a half-inch away from ending his life. She had considered attempting a second shot, but quickly ruled that option out. While the railgun had allowed her to take her shot accurately from much farther away than she would have been able to with the bulky rifle otherwise needed to do the job, she wasn't confident in remaining undetected. Though the teal rings left by the hypersonic projectile had pretty much dissipated over the three-quarters of a mile, if someone was out there looking for a second shot, she would be spotted. Discretion was always the better part of valor, and she had plenty of other targets on her list to take care of. 'We'll meet again Evans,' she thought to herself as she placed the railgun back into its carrying case, and climbed down the building's fire escape. She opened the door to her car, and was out of the city by the time a coordinated search had begun. She looked down at the paper with the list of her targets on it, and began heading northeast, towards New York City, and the U.S. Representative to the United Nations.  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
SOC Alpha Site  
August 30, 2001 11:05 AM  
  
"Got a minute Sam?" Matt asked, as he joined Sam Reynolds in walking down the hallway.  
  
"Yes I do Matt. We aren't leaving for another half hour or so," he replied. They had finally gotten everything prepared for Sam and the others to begin the operation to infiltrate the test site for Umbrella's new Alphas. This was going to be the last time Sam would be in the Alpha Site until after accomplishing the mission, if he made it back alive. No one was kidding themselves, if Sam was able to survive the infiltration he would have to be incredibly lucky, and at the top of his game.  
  
"I just wanted to wish you luck on the island," Matt said. "It's going to be hairy down there, and I've got a feeling that your mission is going to start off badly, and go downhill from there. Make sure you call in the others if the operation goes bust. Remember that the objective is to get information about the Alphas, not take them all out. And keep an eye on your squad members; trust me when I say that they may end up saving your life. Most of those people are going to have no idea what Umbrella is really up to, and if we can make a few allies afterward, it'll be a big help. Just keep your eyes open in case Umbrella has someone on the inside too, and trust your instincts. And when you get back, the first round is on me."  
  
"I'll hold you to that," Sam said with a smile. "You guys better keep an eye out too. Evans is going to be out for blood, and his people are starting to search a little too close to us for my comfort. I just can't help but feel like this is the last time I'm going to be in the Alpha Site."  
  
"Not if we have anything to say about it. I'll let you get your stuff together and get on the road now man. Remember, aim for the head and give 'em a shot for me," Matt said as he offered his hand. Sam took it, and gave it a hearty shake before continuing down the hall, heading towards the equipment storage area to pick up some gear for the mission. "Good luck Sam," Matt called out, before heading back towards his office to finish his report about the Ottawa Facility assault. Before he opened the door, he saw Ian walking briskly down the hall.  
  
"Serena got one," he said simply as he headed towards the Command Center. Matt turned, and started to catch up to his boss as he went over the hit list mentally, trying to figure out who it might be. He remembered hearing about the attempt to assassinate Evans, and how he had narrowly escaped with his life. Serena had e-mailed a report into a secure account, detailing just how lucky the illegitimate President had been. Even then, he knew it had been much closer than Serena had told them, at least according to what the news people were saying. A decent chunk of bulletproof glass had been blasted into him, along with a few fragments of the aluminum spike Serena had fired.  
  
"Who?" Matt asked as he caught up with Ian. They both walked through the doors leading to the Command Center, as Ian pointed to a monitor in the front of the room, tuned in to ABC.  
  
"This is Jules Maddox, reporting live from New York City, where tragedy has befallen a beloved member of the government. Hugh Roberts, the U.S. Representative to the United Nations, was assassinated earlier this morning, while he was on his way to a General Assembly meeting. Roberts had just returned to the city two days ago, after being called to Washington to brief the President on the ongoing situation involving Canada, and several hundred fugitives that the current administration has been hunting relentlessly. Officials are not willing to comment at this time as to the cause of death, or speculate whether this assassination is in any way related to the attempt made against President Evans less than one week ago. We have learned from several anonymous sources that high-ranking members of the administration are going to be relocated to underground bunkers throughout the country, to ensure their safety as one, or several as of yet unidentified persons continue to wage war against the legitimate government of the United States. This is Jules Maddox, ABC News," the reporter said as Matt smiled.  
  
"So he's the first one on the list," Matt whispered to Ian, in order to keep anyone not briefed in on Serena's mission from overhearing. "Glad to hear that Serena's having a good time."  
  
"I'm not so glad to hear that Evans now has at least some influence in the media. Did you pick up on some of the things Maddox just said? For example, calling Evans' regime the legitimate government, or praising him for hunting us. I think time is now officially no longer on our side. If Evans is able to keep control over the media, his message will get out so much that people are going to start believing it, regardless of whether or not it's true. I only wish we had some way of getting the truth out, and starting an uprising against Evans," Ian replied sadly. "I keep getting the feeling that we're on the wrong side of a losing battle with Evans. We're going to need a miracle to pull this off." By the end, Ian had dropped his voice to a whisper, so only Matt could hear him.  
  
"We still have hope. As long as there's a chance that we can defeat Evans, we can't give up. We have to keep fighting, for the people who died in Raccoon, for the people of Shoreline, and the people in Dallas that never had a chance. If we aren't able to defeat Evans and Spencer, no one will. And think of the S.T.A.R.S.; they've been fighting for three years longer than we have, and they haven't given up yet. People will come around, and see the truth behind Evans' and Spencer's lies. We just have to give them time," Matt said.  
  
"I hope you're right, for all of our sakes. I believe that very soon it will be time to cast the die, and leave the outcome of our struggle up to fate. We're running out of time up here; it won't be long before Evans finds us, and sends whatever he has after us. We need the country, and especially the military, to come through for us. Or else this is going to be a very short rebellion that's going to end with a whole lot more people dead. Whatever's going to happen, I get the feeling that it's out of our hands," Ian added, shaking his head. "I just hope that we win this thing."  
  
"Me too," Matt replied solemnly. "We have to."  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
And that's a wrap! Chapter Twelve is complete. I can't believe how far this story has come along (and how long I've been writing it). It's been almost six months since I've started this beast, and I'm almost halfway done! A big thank you to everyone who has stuck with me up to this point, and a thank you to everyone who's going to read this story (at some point in time). As always, it's been a pleasure to write for you all, and it's going to be great to keep on writing.  
  
As you can (obviously) tell, this chapter had a lot of time devoted to the reader-submitted characters. This was for two main reasons. First, I didn't think they were getting enough time in the story (and very little in the last few chapter), and I wanted to remedy that. Secondly, I'm pulling some stuff to save for The Fall of Umbrella (yes, if you're wondering, I still intend to write it, but I don't think I'll get really into it until O: FS 2001 is finished up), so I can eventually have enough stuff left out that I feel guilty for not writing it, and finally get that project rolling. I know you're all getting impatient for the Coming Attractions, (ha, fooled you there, didn't I. You thought they were going to be immediately following this sentence, didn't you? Admit it) but I have just a few more things to add before getting to them.  
  
Did any of you catch the little satire of this story that I wrote (back when Ian, Serena and Matt were in the gym setting up the assassination plans)? Funny, eh? If anyone wants to leave some feedback (you want to see some more jokes like that, etc.) feel free to. And if anyone is going to tell me stuff like that doesn't belong in this story, then I say laughter reduces stress (and after everything the characters have gone through in the last two story weeks, they'll have a lot of it), and makes people feel better. So there!  
  
And lastly (I know, I know, you want the Coming Attractions) (Fooled you again with the capitalization, didn't I? I'm just in such a tricky mood today!), this is for Rhys D and William. Rhys, I know we talked about having the Forsaken and Jianna appearing in this chapter (or one in the very near future), but at about word number 7,000, I was struck with this really great idea about how to use them (the third paragraph from the end of your character description for her was a big inspiration, more specifically the last sentence) in this story. Please forgive me! And a similar message to William about his hacker, Uziman_1. I hinted about his impending arrival in the story (Evans' line about the expert computer hacker, for everyone who has no idea what I'm talking about), and came up with a much better way to work him in than I already had. I promise they'll make it in!  
  
And finally, we arrive at the Coming Attractions! (Yes, I know, it's about time.) And the biggest disappointment I could possibly give all of you! (Right about now you're thinking that I'm crazy, but just wait and you'll see how bad it's going to be). The next chapter is going to be the updated character backgrounds, and stuff. You may be wondering what the 'and stuff' means, and to be honest, I haven't really decided myself. But rest assured, just like my first character background chapter that I did (Chapter 6), I'm going to make it worth your collective while. That's right, after the character backgrounds and stuff, there's going to be a mini-chapter (like at the end of Chapter 6). I'm keeping it under wraps so I don't spoil the surprise, but that mini-chapter is going to basically set up the last few full chapters in this part of my story. And you're all going to have to wait to see what it's about (unless you leave a review, and e-mail me asking me to tell you. I can't say no to a nice e-mail, and I'm still waiting for someone to correctly guess who's watching over the SOC and S.T.A.R.S., although Rhys D got a big hint, and probably has figured it out) until I write the chapter. Until next time people!  
  
Final Thoughts: Flamers suck, please review, and e-mail me if you want a hint as to what's up. 100,000 words are cool, writing is fun, stay in school, and keep on reading! And of course, Don't Get Eliminated! (has anyone else watched MXC on TNN? It's hilarious!). Lastly, sorry about all of the jokes and stuff like that. I promise that I'll do my best to make sure they're never here again. 


	13. Background Check

Disclaimer: Capcom owns Resident Evil and everything related to it. All reader-submitted characters are owned by their creators (who will be identified along with their character/characters later on in the chapter). Everything that I create for use in this story is owned by me.  
  
Author's Notes: Well, I hope everyone had a great holiday season. Now that you're all done with visiting relatives, celebrating, and all that other junk, I'm sure you're all psyched up to read the next chapter in my story. Right? *Is greeted with silence* Right. Anyway, I figure since you've all had wonderful holidays, I can start you all off with a bit of bad news. And before any of you start worrying unnecessarily (or prematurely celebrating, depending on how much you like this story), rest assured that I am not going to stop writing until it's done. And now for the bad news.  
  
I thought for a long time about this problem before coming to the conclusion that I'm actually hurting this story through writing too much. In the last two or three chapters especially I've added a lot of crap because I've become seemingly obsessed with pushing each chapter farther and farther past the 10,000 word mark. While Napoleon may have gotten it right with the statement that "Quantity has a quality all of its own," I don't think that applies to this story. I've put more effort into chapter lengths than I have the plot, and the story has suffered as a result.  
  
Now don't go thinking that this story is going to go back to the days (and lengths) of the first three chapters. I'm going to write more towards the need of each specific chapter, and judge how much it needs to move forward into the next. In other words, the average number of words per chapter is going to drop down a bit, and instead of ten and eleven thousand word monsters I'm going to start aiming more towards eight or nine thousand words. Of course, to compensate, that means that I'm going to have more chapters. This policy will begin with The Fall of Umbrella, and continue into O: FS 2K2.  
  
Now that I've gotten that over with, it's time to get back into a happier mood, and back towards the more-normal author's notes. I'm a little disappointed that (as of the time that I'm writing this) chapter 12 has received zero reviews, but that's okay! I know that somewhere, someone (other than me, Rhys D and a handful of others) is reading this story, and cursing me because it takes me so long to update (joking). And if the person who tried hacking our Gateway was trying to get at my notes for the rest of O: FS 2K1 and is reading this, you could've just asked; I'll be happy to send them to you (even though they're really unorganized and confusing).  
  
And I have officially just about run out of things to say for this introduction. I was glad to hear some positive feedback for the humor spread through the last chapter (thanks again Rhys! It's always a pleasure to hear from you), and will probably be continuing it where appropriate.  
  
Along those lines, anyone who is reading this fic had better be reading everything related to Resident Evil written by Sporty_Girl and Rhys D. Both of their stories connect in with this universe (Sporty_Girl's works establishing and continuing it, and Rhys D's creating a more-detailed background for his character Serena Baccarin), and really help to flesh it out. If you haven't read them yet, go do it now. Trust me. And now, without further delay, copy, pasted and slightly edited for your entertainment (feel free to laugh at that one), from the backgrounds submitted by their creators,  
  
Operation: Falling S.T.A.R.S.  
  
Chapter Thirteen: Background Check  
  
Umbrella Update:  
  
Xenia Omorova (submitted by: Rhys D)  
  
Name: Xenia Omorova.  
  
Age: 37.  
  
Gender: Female.  
  
Physical Appearance: Tall, physically imposing and powerfully built with a top model's looks, has dark Gypsy looks. Well-proportioned, extremely graceful and agile, hair falls to just below shoulders down and loose, she tends to tie it in a loose tail down her back.  
  
Combat clothing: Nomex full-body suit of jet-black Wetworks gear with anti- flash hood and goggles, fire-and-waterproofed. Combat webbing of same color, wears gauntlets with razor-sharp pale plastic spikes (can be coated with drugs) extending 1cm from knuckles which can be mounted on fingertips. Carries gear, spare ammunition and grenades in combat webbing.  
  
Bio: Height: 6 foot.  
  
Weight: 133 pounds.  
  
Eyes: Mahogany brown.  
  
Hair: Auburn.  
  
Race: Born in Ukraine, raised in Russia.  
  
SPECIAL NOTE: Her father is of Cossack descent, his father was one of very few survivors when Stalin "purged" the Cossacks as a people in the late 1940's. This is NOT common knowledge, but both her mother and father have always said her wild ways and viciousness come from this.  
  
Mother: Nirina Casa-Omorova (Born-1937 Died-)  
Worked in Weapons Factories as a laborer. Father: Mikael Omorova (Born-1940 Died-)  
Semi-retired Police Officer (Lieutenant). Sister: Yelena Omorova (Born-1971 Died-)  
Works for SVR (Russian equivalent of CIA).  
  
Personality: Exceptionally intelligent and capable, if she puts her mind to something she will most likely find a way to do it. The consummate professional, she works for whoever pays the most. Totally amoral, unless she cares about the specific individual she is capable of anything to get the job done. The only way to buy her loyalty is to offer her more money than she is being paid by her current employer, she does not respond to threats, warnings or causes unless backed up by serious action. She regards people as tools to be used and discarded as necessary, and cares more about seeing the job done than she ever will about the amount of blood spilt to ensure its success. Could be classified as a Sociopath.  
  
Favorite weapon: Gyurza/Vector SR1.  
  
Rank: Head of Intelligence, Umbrella Corp.  
  
Team Position: Sniper.  
  
Weapons of Choice: Gyurza/Vector SR1, Izmech (Baikal) MP-443 "Grach", SIG- Sauer SigPro, KSVK 12.7MM, Dragunov SVD, VSS "Vintorez", 9-inch double- edged combat knife.  
  
SPECIAL NOTE: She is qualified on all of these weapons and most others, she spends a lot of time developing combat skills due to suspicion that "It's not paranoia if they really are after you". She's always been a firm believer in the right tool for the right job.  
  
Education: Holds a First-Class Masters Degree in Psychology, gained at 21. That's the only part of her education she will talk about.  
  
Background: Born 1966 in Ukraine, moved with parents moved to Moscow in 1970. Excelling in all physical and mental tasks and challenges set as she grew up she enrolled at The Academic Academy in Moscow at 18, regarded as the School for the particularly gifted since courses involve extremely intensive physical training and academic courses that 90% of Students do not complete. It was a front for the KGB, and she was recruited before the end of her first year. Age 18-20 she was taught advanced espionage techniques, survival skills and other skills as necessary, i.e. resistance to Torture, Interrogation, heavy weapons and vehicles driving and use (she can drive a tank if she has to) to enable her to function as everything from a Deep Cover agent to a Combat Operative. Age 20-21 she was trained by experienced Spetsnaz (Russian Special Forces) soldiers and a variety of other instructors to make her a fully functional "Exceptional Operative", KGB slang for Independent Operative free of KGB restrictions who would work entirely outside official channels on orders from Director to do jobs KGB could not be associated with.  
  
She served as a Special Forces Sniper in Afghanistan in 1989 in a botched mission, which was an attempt to assassinate Ahmed Shah Masood. The twelve- strong team was wiped out but for her when their mission profile was sold to the Afghan Guerrillas by a corrupt Russian General to the mujahidin and she was only taken alive since she was a beautiful young woman. Taking matters into their own hands, believing her one of their own, the Spetsnaz rescued her a week later. It is understood she was forced to "service" Afghan soldiers as and when they wished in the meantime, but the experience failed to do anything more than dent her pride. Set up as an independent operative on collapse of USSR in 1991, very quickly made a name for herself as a professional intelligence operative who was loyal to the highest bidder and very, very good at what she does. Has been involved on an intelligence level in every major conflict of the 1990's, was involved in military level in Yugoslavia Civil War, variety of Middle Eastern conflicts and Kosovo-gained intelligence for NATO on Serbian military actions and strength. Will not get involved in Chechnya as knows it's a lost cause, which she avoids. If she wasn't employed by Umbrella, half the intelligence agencies in the world would employ her in a moment. Well on her way to becoming a living legend in her field as things stand.  
  
When she isn't working she relaxes by reading Mills and Boone Romance novels or working out to the point of utter exhaustion, physical and mental. She has a habit of leaving her lovers incapable of anything when she's finished with them, and there have been a lot. She is a very sexual woman, and regularly has at least two boyfriends going at the same time. Her behavior in this respect can best be described as predatory, love or affection are almost anathema to her. It would take a truly exceptional individual to penetrate her guard.  
  
Military History: Served Afghanistan 1989 (with joint Spetsnaz-KGB force hunting down mujahidin Guerrillas), 91' Gulf War (served UN Force as Spotting Officer/Sniper), 94'-95' Bosnia Herzegovina in Yugoslavia Civil War (lead Serb Death Squad "Cleansing" Ethnic Muslims and Croats, Serbian equivalent of WWII SS Police Battalions), 98'-99' Zaire (now Democratic Republic of Congo-she fought with the rebels as their intelligence chief specifically to get access to Government funds in Kinshasa, she became rich several times over when successful), assassinated Hamas leaders for Israel after outbreak of Intifada in 99', served as Reconnaissance Scout for UN force in Kosovo in 2000.  
  
Went back to Afghanistan in 2001, Tasked by the CIA on Presidential orders to get Osama Bin Laden dead or alive. She supplied the intelligence which led to the military assault on the Al Qaeda mountain stronghold Tora Bora as well as being involved in the assault, which involved particularly vicious hand-to-hand fighting when she insisted in going in with the initial SAS assault, considering them superior to American Special Forces, once her information was verified by CIA sources, and still maintains that if they'd taken her advice to flatten the mountain with a small Nuke the War on Terror would be a lot further along. She was also involved in suppressing the Taliban rioting near Mazar-I-Sharif when prisoners attempted a mass breakout which went on for three days, causing hundreds of casualties. The Americans bombing nearly killed her when they missed the target and hit their own spotters. Half dead on her feet she had to hold off attacking prisoners with a pistol and a knife while bleeding to death until Special Forces managed to break in and rescue her. She nearly strangled the US Commanding Officer and had to be restrained by four men afterwards.  
  
Left to work for Umbrella when offered very rewarding Contract by Lord Andrew Spencer via Trent in person in August 2001, has been working for Umbrella ever since. Her Sister joined the KGB at eighteen in 1989 in an attempt to at least emulate her big Sister's accomplishments, staying in as a member of the SVR when it was reorganized and renamed, but so far she hasn't even gotten close, despite being regularly graded as in the top two percent of Operatives as well as being a highly regarded and trusted agent. It doesn't take anyone long to grasp that Xenia is someone and something both unique and special on meeting her.  
  
SPECIAL NOTE: She met Matt Ryan in Afghanistan during Covert SOC Operations against the Taliban after being hired to direct Black and Shadow operations there by the CIA, making her his superior officer at the time. She considers him extremely impressive and exceptionally capable, but he's lacking in the one thing that would get her more than professionally interested in him-ruthlessness. He really wants to do the right thing and is willing to die for his country, she'll do anything for money but won't die for anyone or anything except herself. Until he understands that there is no right or wrong in this world beyond what you see there to be, he'll never stand a chance with her.  
  
If Matt Ryan were asked to sum up Xenia Omorova in one word it would be "Dangerous". She is, without question, one of the most dangerous people he's ever met and he really doesn't want to test a theory-that he could probably take her in a knock-down, drag-out fight-in reality because she'd almost certainly cripple him before he finished her, if he was lucky. He regards her as mentally unstable given her attitudes and actions when he's seen and heard her work, but would nonetheless advise anyone he knows to shoot on sight and never stop running if you miss with the first shot.  
  
Military Record: :Afghanistan: Spetsnaz-KGB Special Operations-1989. :Kuwait/Iraq: UN Spotting Officer/Sniper-1991. :Yugoslavia: Serbian Death Squad Leader-1994-95. :Zaire (Now Democratic Republic of Congo): Intelligence Chief for rebels- 1998-99. :Palestine: Assassin for Mossad-1999. :Kosovo: Reconnaissance Scout for UN-2000. :Afghanistan: Shadow Operations Commanding Officer(Covert Operations)/Sniper/ Assassin for CIA/US Army-2001. France: Head of Intelligence for Umbrella Corp 2001-(Present).  
  
SPECIAL NOTE: This woman is VERY, VERY good at what she does, the kind who doesn't make mistakes-in fact, those in the know seriously believe that she will one day have the same kind of legend attached to her actions and reputation as certain others who will never be named that only those who have met them will ever know the truth about (the real "James Bonds" of the Intelligence world). She is completely mercenary, but that only means that people should know better than to trust her unless they've paid her a great deal of money first and are sure that no-one else has paid her more-she has no problem at all with acting as a Double or even Triple Agent for the right price. Her nickname was given to her by those who've met her and survived. She's the one and only person known to have made Trent nervous, something even Lord Spencer has never managed.  
  
James Mccomb (Uziman_1) (Submitted by: William)  
  
Name: Jacob Ulysses Mccomb  
  
Age: 19  
  
Hair color & Style: spiked Brown with dyed blond tips.  
  
Eyes: Light blue  
  
Glasses: Thick Black frames, more of a fashion statement than a vision corrector.  
  
Clothes: White T-shirt with Linkin Park logo, orange unbuttoned shirt with sleeves rolled up, Dark green cargo pants, black Reeboks.  
  
Personality: Flamboyant and eccentric especially when hacking. Some might say obnoxious. Willing to make a wisecrack every chance he gets.  
  
Hometown: Las Vegas.  
  
Weapons: Two homemade laser pistols that he calls Razor and Blade. If SOC were to acquire the pistols and give them to DefTek, it could bring DefTek a few years ahead in weapons development.  
  
History: He was raised to be a part of the same super-technological cult his parents were a part of. From the age of 6, he has been trained in the use of computers and many other forms of technology. He had girlfriend named Hallie Attin (current age: 18), who was captured by Las Vegas SWAT, and sent to an undisclosed maximum-security federal penitentiary, after releasing a devastating computer virus in the New York Stock Exchange. Her whereabouts have remained unknown since her capture, three years ago.  
  
James managed to evade the numerous police and intelligence organizations hunting him, lived in a orphanage for several years, and ran away on his 15th birthday to live on his own. He has attacked the Pentagon and the White House, along with many other high-level government departments. He has also created numerous few destructive viruses including the Chainsaw, Dead Man, Kreuger and Rabid Dawg programs.  
  
In the Net world, he is consider the "Leet King", The King of Hackers and has a loyal "hacking  
  
crew." Even after his capture and arrest by elements of the National Security Agency, programs he wrote have continued to turn up, leaving many to wonder whether the man that was arrested was actually him.  
  
Update: SOC Intelligence has managed to confirm that President Evans has recruited Mccomb to locate the SOC. All Electronic Intelligence/Warfare personnel are instructed to be on full alert at all times.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
SOC Update:  
  
Serena Baccarin (submitted by: Rhys D)  
  
Name: Serena Baccarin.  
  
Age: 33.  
  
Gender: Female.  
  
Nickname: Reaper.  
  
Physical Appearance: Hair held in loose ponytail, tawny skin result of South American ancestry (Argentinean mother). Exceptionally fit and agile due to constant exercise since age of ten. Has a tattoo of a Phoenix (Firebird) over her heart, wears a silver Ankh on a black leather strap around her neck. When she chooses to dress up, she can be breathtaking. When she is carrying out business, she is simply particularly striking.  
  
Combat clothing: jet-black halter top held by straps at shoulders, loose jacket, trousers and knee-length boots of same color, made of Nomex weave designed to provide limited protection from fire and hard targets-knives, bullets, shrapnel, etc. Wears black combat webbing to hold her gear, i.e. variety of spare ammunition and grenades, variety of Specialist gear (see Military background).  
  
Bio: Height: 5,11.  
  
Weight: 130 pounds.  
  
Eyes: sapphire blue.  
  
Hair: Jet-black.  
  
Race: Caucasian American/American Indian, mixed race, born in New Orleans.  
  
Mother: Selina Abjas-Liparti, Nurse, (Born) 1945-(Died) 1986. Father: Adam Liparti, Sergeant in US Marines, (Born) 1932- Brother: Jonathon Liparti, Journalist, (Born) 1975-  
  
Personality: Cold-blooded killer who lets very, very few people under her guard, ever. Friendship and romance are almost unknowns to her. She has complete and unquestioning faith in the USA itself and its values, not the government or the people she works for. So levelheaded and calm in any situation that professionals defer to her-NOTE: this is due to extreme emotional trauma suffered at 16 (see personal background). She simply does not loose her self-control, ever. Dislikes renegades and rogues from organizations like S.T.A.R.S. intensely, but understands their reasoning with cases like Umbrella. Her nickname/call sign is "Reaper" because she is so efficient a killer, if she wants someone dead or something destroyed she will simply do whatever it takes without hesitation. Very loyal to those who have earned her trust (i.e. Chris Redfield). Despite her visual distinctiveness, she can blend in any company without difficulty due to natural talent-she would have made a superb actress.  
  
Favorite weapon: Combat knives.  
  
Rank: Specialist (Carries rank of Major in US Air Force).  
  
Team Position: Sniper (Assassin to those who know).  
  
Weapons of Choice: Special issue enhanced V-9 Snipers rifle with Silencer (see Military Background), Glock 45., 2 silenced customized 9MM Browning pistols, 2-shot holdout Magnum mini-pistol, 2 combat knives.  
  
SPECIAL NOTE: Her gear includes tools necessary to construct basic biological and chemical weapons as well as explosives if necessary, all she needs are supplies and time. Background: Father fought in Korean War 1950-53 in Marines from age of 18- 21, Vietnam 1968-1972 from age of 36-40, saw and did things that he's been sworn never to talk about with anyone under any circumstances. Extremely patriotic, but wanted to keep daughter out of services at all costs due to understanding of consequences. Taught her Street Fighting and physical discipline techniques from age of ten for own protection. However, at age sixteen Serena came home from school to find her mother butchered abattoir style floating in a bath full of her own blood. When medical examination revealed she had been repeatedly raped and mutilated first, father went nuts, got his old M-16 and a meat-cleaver and went looking for those responsible. When he found them, it took Forensic officers a solid week to separate the remains and clean up the scene. Father was tried for triple murder but cleared on basis of insanity plea when psychiatric reports confirmed that his wife's brutal murder had left him deranged. He was committed instead, and is unlikely to ever be released since considered a psychotic lunatic with homicidal tendencies, extremely extensive military training and experience. Unable to cope on her own, Serena enlisted less than a year later, aged 17, with the US Air Force to escape an unbearable life-also, she'd always dreamt of seeing the world from the skies point of view. Met Chris Redfield just before he was thrown out of the Air Force in 1996 when she was assigned to the same Top Secret mission that he was that finished his career when he disobeyed orders to leave a wounded man behind. Impressed by his resilience and skills, not to mention commitment to fellow American soldiers, she dated him for a while, but the relationship drifted along after he joined S.T.A.R.S. at Barry Burton's suggestion since their careers take them in such different directions. She still considers him her boyfriend, though, and would be very happy to pick up where they left off. Should be noted, however, that he doesn't know what her job actually is, only that she does Shadow Ops exclusively and is the best shot he knows, she's never missed to his knowledge. She has met Barry Burton briefly, but he only knows the very few details Chris has told him and what she looks like. Educated to Masters level, she holds two First Class Degrees, History (aged 23) and Criminology (28).  
  
Military History: Joined US Air Force at 17 as trainee pilot, graduated at eighteen. Age 21 referred to ETC (Exceptional Tasks Commission) after receiving Silver Star and Medal of Congress having survived being shot down over Iraq despite a catastrophic systems failure preventing her from ejecting. Spent three weeks on the run behind Iraqi lines despite being badly injured before walking out of Southern Iraq into allied camp. Record of report on events post-crash pre-recovery sealed by government until 2041, but common knowledge among US Special Forces in Iraq at time that she was single-handedly responsible for triple-figure death toll among pursuers, also that she did what she had to do to survive deserts, near- total lack of food and water, marauding bands of soldiers and all other difficulties. Recruited by ETC aged 21 and promoted from pilot to Lieutenant, taken off all official Air Force crew lists. Aged 21-25 trained in Urban and Rural Terrorism techniques and tactics, explosives, advanced combat techniques- armed and unarmed, enhanced weapons use, interrogation and extreme resistance to torture. Also trained in Ninjitsu, Krav Maga (Israeli army unarmed combat technique) and Hsing-I Street Fighting. Expert-level computer skills are a given for an SOC Officer of her position and rank, as are medical skills that allow her to perform field surgery if absolutely necessary. Age 25 transferred to Cobra Division, top-secret Air Force Covert Operations and Wetworks unit, part of ETC, specifically intended to deal with terrorist threats to US interests outside US mainland. Unit function involves pre-emptive strikes against terrorist cells and other targets. Sent on a variety of missions aged 25-28 involving counter-terrorism activities all over world, promoted to Major at 28 and own death faked to cut all ties linking her to family, friends and service-a body was provided that is in her "grave". Since mid-2001, has been assigned on a permanent basis to SOC (Special Operations Command) to act as a Master Assassin. If survives to 2004, due promotion to Colonel. No one below the Joint Chiefs can access her Dossier. Military Record: CLASSIFIED UNTIL 100 YEARS AFTER OPERATIVES DEATH. SPECIAL NOTE: She has never fought in a full-scale battle. However, since she joined the ETC she has logged twice the field time outside the United States soldiers twenty years her senior can boast in a great number of cases, in most cases the most downright dirty, dangerous missions one can think of. Her job has required her to live in the shadows and work among the filth for over a decade, letting her get to know all kinds of people and places. If you want to find the dirt on anyone or anything and can get to her, she can find it for you-if she trusts you.  
  
Team 4  
  
Victor O'Connor  
  
Name: Victor O'Connor  
  
Age: 31 (DOB: 6/21/1970)  
  
Rank: Team 4 Commander  
  
Height: 5'10"  
  
Weight: 175 pounds  
  
Hair & Eye Color: Black hair, blue eyes  
  
Background: Victor O'Connor has spent a good deal of time in the military. He enlisted in the Army right out of high school, completed basic training, and eventually wound up in the 101st Airborne Division. He served with the 101st in various locations, and had achieved the rank of Master Sergeant before the attack on the U.S.S. Cole occurred, propelling the United States into the War on Terror. The 101st was one of the first conventional units to enter combat, and Victor's platoon was ordered to secure a small town in preparation for a large allied drive against Kabul.  
  
The mission was a disaster almost from the beginning. The small town that they had been ordered to secure turned out to be a previously-unknown Taliban stronghold, with an estimated two hundred heavily-armed fighters in and around the town. The platoon had driven to the outskirts of the town before meeting armed resistance, and it is entirely possible that the vehicles saved the platoon from complete destruction. The troops had all dismounted once the enemy fire became more than sporadic bursts, taking cover behind the vehicles. That was when the rockets began to fly, turning the Humvees into scrap and severely injuring eight soldiers. The remaining uninjured returned fire as enemy soldiers poured out of the woodwork. The platoon's lieutenant was one of the casualties, so Victor assumed command, calling for air support and an immediate evacuation.  
  
Somehow, the request for an evacuation never made its way back to headquarters, but they received the request for air support. Two AC-130 Spectre gunships assigned to support the assault were directed to the platoon's position, and blanketed the enemy positions. Unfortunately for Victor's platoon, the local Taliban commander realized that the gunships wouldn't be able to engage if his men crowded the U.S. ground position. What ensued was an hour of vicious hand-to-hand combat that should've earned Victor a medal, but in the end nearly cost him his career.  
  
The hundred Taliban soldiers that had survived the wrath of the gunships unharmed quickly charged the U.S. positions, engaging the outnumbered U.S. troops at close range. Three Americans were fatally wounded and seven more injured, even before the close range combat began. Even though he was confident in the superior training hand-to-hand training that his people had, Victor didn't want to take any chances; he ordered his men to slowly pull back while he stayed behind with the platoon's demolition expert, wiring the wrecked vehicles with explosives. They managed to finish before the demolition expert took three rounds to the chest, penetrating his flak jacket and killing him almost instantly. Victor, knowing that he couldn't wait any longer, took the detonator for the explosives, dove into the closest building he could find, and hit the detonator. The vehicles turned into huge grenades thanks to the explosives, sending shrapnel tearing through the Taliban who were even then securing the other side of the wrecks. Unfortunately for Victor, the explosion also set off a small ammo dump that was in the basement of a nearby building, killing three civilians that were hiding in the building.  
  
Victor was court-martialed in the aftermath, even though he had no way of knowing the ammo dump was in the building. The army, knowing that the public wouldn't accept letting him off without punishment even though he hadn't done anything wrong, prepared to end his career before the SOC intervened on his behalf. Introductions were made, and before the trial was over the Team 4-leadership position was guaranteed to Victor, giving the SOC control over his record, which was never updated to include the guilty verdict of the trial.  
  
Personality: Like most of the other soldiers in the SOC, Victor will stop at nothing to protect his people. He still views accomplishing the mission as having primary importance, but will not sacrifice people under his command unless forced to by outside circumstances. His is loyal to the other members of the SOC, and will lay his life down for his comrades without a second's hesitation.  
  
Grant Hudson  
  
Name: Grant Hudson  
  
Age: 29 (DOB 3/13/72)  
  
Rank: Team 4 Marksman, Team 4 Medic  
  
Height: 5'11"  
  
Weight: 183 pounds  
  
Hair & Eye Color: Blond hair, green eyes  
  
Background: Grant Hudson, like his commander Victor O'Connor, has spent a great deal of time in the military. Having taken advantage of the ROTC offering money for college and achieving a Bachelor's Degree in Political Science, Grant went into the army. Ironically, he also wound up in the same battalion of 101st Airborne as Victor, but wasn't involved with the incident that nearly cost his leader his career in the military.  
  
What brought Grant to the attention of the SOC was an incident that occurred right after the 101st arrived in Afghanistan. The 101st had received intelligence indicating that several high-profile enemy personnel were meeting in a cave somewhere nearby. The informant was unable to pinpoint the location on a map, but was willing to lead a small ground team to the position. Thus, Grant's unit received its orders to secure the cave and capture any high-priority targets inside.  
  
The mission went off without a hitch, netting several high-level Taliban and Al Qaeda members who were attempting to coordinate an offensive before more U.S. troops could arrive in country. The success of the operation led to an immediate drop-off in enemy attacks, in all likelihood saving the lives of American soldiers. Victor O'Connor talked to Grant after the mission was completed (and after he had been contacted by the SOC), and felt that Grant would be a valuable member of his team. So far, Victor hasn't been disappointed.  
  
Personality: Grant is unquestionably loyal to his teammates, and the SOC by extension. He will do everything he can to get a mission scrubbed if one of his teammates is wounded, which may lead to problems in the future since Victor was made the team leader, even though Grant had the higher rank (Captain) at the time of his recruitment. He may have problems at times adjusting to not being in control of a tactical situation, but the probability of any serious trouble developing is extremely low.  
  
Rob Bennings  
  
Name: Rob Bennings  
  
Age: 28 (DOB 5/17/73)  
  
Rank: Team 4 Scout  
  
Height: 5'9"  
  
Weight: 168 pounds  
  
Hair & Eye Color: Black hair, green eyes  
  
Background: Rob is one of the few members of the SOC that wasn't actively in the military when he was approached for recruitment. He was an accountant for a small law firm at the time, and less than enthusiastic when he was approached by Ian Williams himself. He had a good job, a wife and son; for all intents and purposes the American Dream. But his country needed him, and he answered the call.  
  
Rob had served with the Marines for several years, and proved his soldiering skills while stationed in Kosovo. One of the missions he was on involved the killing of a former member of the KLA (Kosovo Liberation Army) during a raid intending to arrest him. He had become a mid-level member of the Russian Mafia after the fighting against the Serbs ended. Since the U.S. had been allied with the KLA only a few short months prior to the mission, not everyone in Washington agreed that the operation should occur.  
  
A high-ranking official, who remains unknown to this day, decided the operation should be a failure, and took matters into his or her own hands. The Mafia member was tipped off about the impending arrival of U.S. Marines intending to arrest him, and decided not to go down without a fight. By the time Rob and his squad arrived at the location, he was ready for them. Six of the twelve Marines were carried out in body bags along with twenty-two enemy soldiers, including the Mafia member.  
  
Several months after the mission, Rob's enlistment ended, and he didn't bother to return to the service. He had been able to at least guess that someone on the inside sold out the mission, and that sticking around might not be the safest thing for him to do. So he returned to civilian life, until nearly three years later Ian Williams came to visit with a job offer that Rob's beliefs wouldn't allow him to refuse.  
  
Personality: Though he was initially reluctant to rejoin the military, Rob has quickly readjusted to life in the service. He is very skilled at being a scout, and can hold his own in a firefight. When he isn't on a mission, he prefers to hang out with his squadmates and other friends, or talk to his family members. He places more value on his teammates than the mission, possibly due to the incident in Kosovo, which taught him just how "highly" valued the lives of his comrades were.  
  
Bonus Material (Contains spoilers if you read carefully):  
  
John Davis  
  
Name: John Davis  
  
Rank: Colonel (Alliance Marine Corps)  
  
Age: Upper twenties  
  
Height: 6'2"  
  
Weight: approx. 190 pounds  
  
Hair & Eye Color: Brown hair, hazel eyes  
  
Background: I have to be honest about this; between what I've learned from Matt Ryan, and my own experiences with him, we know next to nothing about John, or the organization he supposedly represents. John first got involved with our struggle against Umbrella during Matt's solo mission to the Umbrella facility in Montana. John supposedly saved Matt's fiancée Melissa (don't ask me how) from an otherwise-fatal gunshot wound.  
  
It was soon after this that I first met our enigmatic guardian angel. At the time, I was at President Bush's last press conference before Spencer's people launched their coup. John was at the event, filmed the whole conference, and was able to escape with the tape (again, don't ask me how). On top of that, he managed to get to the prison where we (Bush, the faction of the government loyal to him, and myself) were going to be executed, and arrange for everyone to escape without raising the suspicions of any of Umbrella's bought-out guards.  
  
Of course, I should probably list what we know about his organization here too. John never told me anything about it, but Matt picked up a few tidbits during his conversations with the man. Supposedly they're at war with two other alien races (I guess this settles the question of whether we're alone in the Universe), yet they (or at least a part of their race) want to help us. I don't know why, and I'm not sure if we'll ever find out, but at this point the SOC could use all the help it can get. There's nothing much more of significance that we've found out about him or the "Alliance," but if they come back, Umbrella is going to be in serious trouble.  
  
Personality: From all appearances, John is genuinely concerned about the well being of Earth. Whether there are any ulterior motives to his concern or not is unknown at this point, but he has helped the SOC greatly. Thus far, he has been easy to get along with, and earned the trust of both Matt Ryan and myself. Currently, this is the limit of our knowledge concerning Mr. Davis, but that very well may change someday.  
  
(Written by: Ian Williams) Paul Westings  
  
Name: Paul Westings  
  
Position: Head of DefTek Industries  
  
Affiliation: S.T.A.R.S./SOC  
  
Age: 47 (DOB: 5/13/54)  
  
Height: 5'9"  
  
Weight: 189 pounds  
  
Hair & Eye Color: Hair brown with small amounts of gray, eyes blue  
  
Background: A great deal of Paul Westings' background (more specifically, his time before establishing DefTek Industries) is unknown. What is known is that he was born and lived in North Dakota until age 18, when he received a scholarship to MIT. He graduated towards the middle of his class, went on to work for a small electronics firm supplying replacement parts for NASA computers to the government, and remained in middle management, for all intents and purposes, until the mid-1990s.  
  
It was around this time that Paul, along with a half-dozen 'anonymous' investors, founded DefTek Industries, and began supplying cutting-edge weapons and equipment to the Defense Department. The overall quality, and extraordinarily low prices that accompanied the equipment led several members of the Department to believe there was some sort of scam occurring, but after several months it became clear that DefTek, and its products, were for-real.  
  
From very humble beginnings, DefTek has grown to have a main office/research & development center, and two smaller testing sites. They have posted small profits since the company's founding, with most revenue being invested back into personnel and R&D costs. The best and brightest that money can buy have found their way into DefTek, and it shows. Several larger defense contractors are beginning to look over their shoulders as this incredibly efficient company continues to churn out superior products at bargain-basement prices.  
  
This has led to a handful of whispers concerning off the books funding for DefTek. Several wary individuals (some of them representing the defense contractors that would suffer if DefTek continues to grow) have pointed to times in which the company's expenditures have exceeded known funds. Whether this is a sign of some sort of "black", or off the books, funding from the U.S. government, or investments from a non-government source has yet to be determined, but such a revelation would alienate all of the company's supporters in the government.  
  
Personality: Paul is a very open individual, and most people find it very easy to trust him. Not to mention the lengths he has gone to in order to ensure that the U.S. military receives the best weaponry and equipment available. His efforts to safeguard his employees, especially in the aftermath of the exodus to Canada, have shown that the trust others place in him is repaid whenever possible.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
SOC Alpha Site  
September 17, 2001 7:32 AM  
  
"You have got to be kidding me," Ian muttered as he walked into the briefing room. He had been woken up less than ten minutes prior, with the news that the S.T.A.R.S. had bad news for him. That statement was appearing to become the understatement of the year as far as Ian was concerned.  
  
"I wish I was Ian," Chris Redfield replied from the other end of the satellite phone line. "But the Dallas S.T.A.R.S. went AWOL, and took a pair of our helicopters with them. Where they're going is anybody's guess. I've got a feeling that they're going to get some revenge against Umbrella for what happened to Dallas."  
  
"God!" Ian yelled as he pounded on a nearby table. "We don't need this now, when Umbrella Special Forces, and the U.S. military, are combing the country for us. Not to mention the effect the loss of twelve people is going to have on any future operations. Do you have any way to contact them, to call them back?"  
  
"We're trying, but they haven't responded to anything. They're going to get themselves killed, and there's nothing we can do to help them," Chris responded, sounding equally frustrated.  
  
"There's nothing else we can do. I'm sorry this had to happen," Ian said, before a knock at the room's door interrupted his chain of thoughts. "Yes?" he asked.  
  
"Sir, we have a satellite fix on the Dallas S.T.A.R.S. team. We commandeered a KH-11 surveillance bird, locked out Evans' people from receiving any information, and found the helicopters about thirty miles from the S.T.A.R.S. position. No survivors," Mark said, as Ian looked on in shock.  
  
"What do you mean, no survivors?" he asked.  
  
"Military was crawling all over the wrecks. Intel thinks that Evans' boys shot the choppers down," Mark replied.  
  
"Great," Ian said, before picking up the satellite phone handset again. "Chris, we think Evans knows where your position is. The Dallas team was shot down, presumably with zero survivors."  
  
"If he knows where we are, he can probably trace our land lines. We're going to have to communicate by satellite phones, and throwaway cell phones," Chris said, after a moment's hesitation. His voice was brimming with a mixture of anger and sadness at the loss of another twelve men and women in the war against Umbrella. "And he could decide to have his people storm our base in order to find the Alpha Site. You might want to move your people out while you still have the chance."  
  
"And abandon you to Evans? I'm not going to give up dozens of people without a fight. Give us a few hours and we'll come up with a way to get as many people as possible to safety," Ian replied, almost pleading by the end of the sentence. "Don't throw yourselves away like the Dallas team did. We'll come up with something."  
  
"I hope so. We've fought for too long to have it end like this. We'll hunker down for the mean time, and prepare to repulse an attack. Redfield out," Chris responded, before shutting down his phone.  
  
"What we really need to do is give the American people someone to rally behind," Ian muttered to himself, before an idea struck him. He dialed in a different number on the satellite phone, and waited for the encryption devices to "shake hands," that is to say recognize each other, and secure the line. Once he received the all-clear beep, he began speaking. "This is Ian Williams. Sir, would it be possible for you to record a message for the American people, asking them to rise up against Evans' regime?"  
  
"I'll do what I can Ian," the exiled George W. Bush replied. "But I don't know how much good it's going to do, since we have no way to transmit anything without getting nailed by Evans' people."  
  
"Let us handle that part sir. Just make sure you make your message count, because we're only going to get one shot at it," Ian said.  
  
"I'll do what I can," Bush answered before disconnecting. Other than the message, all Ian needed to do to fulfill his plan was wait for the military to find the Alpha Site, and hope he had enough time to get as many people away as possible. He walked up to the wall-mounted intercom, and selected the option that would connect the device to every intercom in the facility.  
  
"This is Assistant Director Williams," he began, using his formal title among SOC personnel for the first time. "As you all know, we have spent the last few weeks hiding from the U.S. military, as well as Umbrella Special Forces combing the country. I don't know how to put this, so I'm just going to come right out and say it; we aren't running any more. I'm ordering preparations made for a Class II evacuation, along with the purging of the Alpha Site's computer networks. Within the next few hours, we will be transmitting a message from President Bush calling for the American people to rise up against Evans. Evans has already located the S.T.A.R.S. base, and we are positive that he'll be able to pinpoint our location before the end of the broadcast, and hit both of us with as many troops as he can. I'm asking for a handful of volunteers to stay here with me, to draw attention here long enough to give the S.T.A.R.S. a chance to escape as well. The volunteers will meet me in the gym, so we can start planning a defense. I realize some of you may want me to be evacuated as well, but to be honest, I couldn't order any of you to sacrifice yourselves without staying as well. Once you arrive at your designated safe houses, you can expect to be contacted by a surviving member of the command staff, with more detailed orders. It's been an honor serving with you all, and I hope that you continue to carry on the fight after," he spoke, pausing for a minute to choose the right words, "everything that's happened. Good luck to you all." With that, he silenced the intercom and began walking towards the facility's gym, to meet with the volunteers who would be giving their lives with him before the week was over.  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
Bomb Shelter underneath the White House  
September 17, 2001 9:21 AM  
  
"So, Mr. Director, would you explain to me how all of the files on your computer pertaining to the Special Operations Command were able to delete themselves?" President Evans asked, hoping to finally find out how his most promising attempt to find the organization's Alpha Site failed.  
  
"I already told you I don't know how it happened. All I know is that somehow, a file that was received from the White House on August 18th activated itself, and completely erased everything on our network relating to the SOC. Not that I would have given you that information even if I did still have it," the Director replied, the memories of his recent torture still fresh.  
  
"Sir, we did detect an unauthorized access in our network on that day, and a number of files were sent out. As you remember sir, it was on that day that our, "uninvited guest," for lack of a better term, showed up. He could very well be responsible for this computer virus that attacked the CIA's network," an aide whispered as Evans stood up and walked over to the Director.  
  
"How about this man?" Evans asked, as he showed the Director a picture taken by a surveillance camera, showing the person who had escaped Bush's last press conference. Evans had also heard a rumor that that man had also been seen at the Umbrella facility the members of the former government he had ordered arrested were being held, before their escape.  
  
"I've never seen him before in my life," the Director replied, with a laugh. "What are you going to tell me, that he's some sort of super-human who managed to escape your hostile takeover of the White House?"  
  
"How did you know?" Evans asked intently, and the Director realized he had revealed too much information.  
  
"I guess there's no harm in my telling you, since I'm most likely going to be executed in a few days. Several years ago we received a transmission originating from somewhere near the Alpha Centauri system. At first we thought that it wasn't directed towards us, but we managed to intercept it, and after nearly two years, decrypt it. We thought it was nothing more than a set of coordinates, until one of our analysts thought to run them through the GPS system. They corresponded with an unpopulated area of Mississippi. We had a handful of operatives deployed as part of a "field exercise," and searched the area thoroughly. We found him. His name is John," the Director said, with a smile.  
  
"Go on," Evans prodded. "So he's working for the CIA?"  
  
"No, far from it in fact. At first, we believed we had made first contact with an alien race. That theory died within ten minutes. Our agents learned that he represented what he called a "coalition with vested interests in the future of Earth," and that they had maintained a presence here for over fifty years," the Director answered.  
  
"So you expect me to believe there have been extraterrestrials operating on Earth for over half a century?" Evans asked incredulously.  
  
"And all of your predecessors who were in office during that time knew about it. They were here with the consent of the previous Presidents. In fact, I'm surprised you haven't heard from them yet. To be honest, I don't think that bodes well for you. Not that they represent your only problems," the Director laughed.  
  
"Tell me more about this "coalition," that you mentioned," Evans said. "More specifically, how to contact them. I think it's time they met with the new U.S. President."  
  
"John gave our agents a contact number, but each time we tried it, nothing happened," the Director replied.  
  
"A contact number? You mean a regular telephone number?" Evans asked. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "This man claims to be an alien, and gives you a regular telephone number to contact him? Did you ever think that maybe he's insane?"  
  
"I'm going to guess that you saw the tapes of Bush's last conference before you had them destroyed. I'll let those answer your question. And if you give me something to write with, I'll give you the number. I want nothing to do with what happens," the Director said. Evans nodded to a Secret Serviceman who stood guard to give the Director a pen, and Evans slid a piece of notebook paper to him. He scribbled sixteen numbers down, and pushed the paper back towards Evans.  
  
"Thank you for your assistance. You've just saved your own life. See that he finds his way to a maximum security prison, with a life sentence," Evans told the waiting Secret Service agents, who escorted the Director out of the room. Evans walked out of the room, heading for the closest phone he could find. Before he arrived, he waved an aide over and said, "Trace this line." He dialed the contact number, and waited. At first nothing happened, then someone on the other end answered.  
  
"Good morning Mr. Evans," a male voice said.  
  
"President Evans to you," he replied. "Am I speaking to John?"  
  
"No. What do you want, Evans?" the voice answered simply, showing no respect for Evans' rank.  
  
"Your organization to recognize me as President. I've held this office for almost a month, and I know you've contacted all of my predecessors," Evans said bluntly.  
  
"No. You're not the legitimate President, and if we weren't otherwise held up, we'd be offering President Bush more than the meager assistance we have up until now," he replied.  
  
"The law says that I am the President. I also know that you're here by Presidential consent, and I'm guessing that I could rescind that permission at any time, and force you out of the U.S.," Evans said, his voice full of confidence. He realized that he would win this argument, until the mystery man on the other end of the line responded, shattering Evans' beliefs.  
  
"If you were the President, that would be correct. Unfortunately, both our President and the Council, which is for all intents and purposes equivalent to your Congress, have unanimously refused to recognize your government. To answer your next question, they have also refused to cease supplying material support to the Special Operations Command and S.T.A.R.S. That will change to direct military support very soon, President Evans," the man added sarcastically. "To be fair, I'll take your request back to them. You can expect our answer within the week." With that, the line clicked, and Evans placed the phone back in its cradle.  
  
"Did you manage to trace the line?" he asked.  
  
"It was relayed through about fifteen different routers, but," the aide began.  
  
"But what?"  
  
"I don't understand how, but it originated from outside of the solar system," she said.  
  
"I see. Thank you," Evans said, before clearing everyone out of the room. Once he had it to himself, he slammed his fists down on the table. Here he was, the leader of the United States of America, being treated as a mere child by some alien. After going back over the conversation however, his anger slowly turned to fear.  
  
"They have also refused to cease supplying the Special Operations Command and S.T.A.R.S. with material support," he heard the voice repeating in his head. Not to mention, "That will change to direct military support very soon."  
  
'What did he mean by "material support?" Of course! Weapons and equipment. How am I supposed to defeat them now? They're probably sitting up there waiting for me to send in troops, armed with weaponry only God knows how far advanced beyond us. I need to talk to Spencer about this," he thought to himself before heading back towards the secure phone.  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
SOC Alpha Site  
September 17 2001, 7:53 AM  
  
"I'd like to thank all of you for the show of support," Ian said as he addressed nearly every member of the SOC, "but I don't need all of you to volunteer." In fact, the only reason why every person, including the support staff and the hand full of people from DefTek on-site, weren't there was because they had to stay behind to keep the Alpha Site from completely shutting down.  
  
"We know. We're here to volunteer, as well as say good-bye to the people you choose," Matt said with a sad smile.  
  
"We're going to need as much time to prepare as possible, so I'm going to ask for two Teams from each Group to stay behind," Ian said.  
  
"You aren't going to be able to attract enough attention with only twenty five people, Ian," Matt replied. "They'll just overwhelm you."  
  
"Not if we concentrate our defense in the vehicle bay, and use the Spectre guns," Ian answered. "We can hold on for at least as long as they have ammunition. Besides, I need as many Teams as possible to make it out of here intact, to carry on the fight."  
  
"And we'll need you alive to help coordinate the next phases against Umbrella. We talked it over, and we can't let you sacrifice yourself Ian," Matt said calmly.  
  
"And I suppose you're going to stay instead? What about your family, and Melissa?" Ian asked. "No, this is the only way. Teams 4, 5, 11, 13, 22, 27, 35 and 36 will stay here. Everyone else will guard the convoys leaving the Alpha Site, and proceed to their safe houses ASAP."  
  
"I'm sorry Ian, but we can't let you do this," Matt said, before nodding to someone standing behind Ian. He felt a needle plunge into his left shoulder, before losing all feeling in it. "It's a fairly strong sedative, which should keep you unconscious long enough to get you clear. Good luck," Matt said, before Ian blacked out.  
  
"Now I know the Teams Ian mentioned are going to still want to stay, but the fact of the matter is I'm going to need specialists here to make sure our last broadcast goes out. That means you, Ken," Matt continued, as Paul and Greg carried Ian towards the elevator, so they could get him to the vehicle bay.  
  
"I understand," Ken replied.  
  
"We're staying too," Greg called out from across the room. "We aren't going to leave a team member behind."  
  
"I had a feeling you would say that. Along with Team 3, I'd like to ask Teams 4, 11, 13, 22, 27, 35 and 36 to remain here. I'll stay as well, and maintain overall command of the defensive perimeter," Matt answered. The elevator doors closed before he added the last sentence, so it was up to Mark to represent Team 1.  
  
"No way you're staying without us," he said angrily. "You pulled the solo act once; you promised you wouldn't do it again."  
  
"I had no choice," Matt answered. "You guys need to get Ian out of here and to safety. Other than me, he's the only person who knows how to get a hold of everyone at the safe houses. Without him, we really are finished. Face it guys, it's the only way to work this out. One of us needs to stay here to command, and you'll need his experience later on. I'm sorry."  
  
Mark stood there, stunned, for a moment before replying. "You planned this the whole time, didn't you? Switching places with Ian at the last minute, I mean."  
  
Matt nodded sadly, and smiled. "I'm more expendable than he is. You guys are going to need every possible advantage you can get if you're going to take the fight to Umbrella after this, and he'll do a better job leading than I possibly could. It's the only way."  
  
The angry stare in Mark's eyes remained, but he seemed to finally come to terms with what Matt was saying. "It's been an honor," he said, snapping off a sharp salute. Everyone who wasn't staying behind did so as well, causing Matt to choke up at the emotional scene. He swept his gaze across the room, making eye contact with every person, acknowledging them all for the sacrifices they had made to this point, and silently thanking him for the show of support.  
  
"Dismissed," he finally said, returning the salute. As the assembled troops broke off into smaller groups to discuss a myriad of topics, he walked over to Mark. "I want you to take my personal effects with you, and see that my family gets them," he said, as Mark nodded.  
  
"We'll do whatever we can. You don't have to do this," he added. "We can rig the message with a time delay, giving us enough time to bug out. We could even put the self-destruct on a timer, so it would blow up in the faces of whoever Umbrella sent up here."  
  
"What about the S.T.A.R.S.?" Matt asked in return. "They deserve every chance we can give them, and their knowledge of Umbrella is going to come in handy after this, too. Remember that they've been fighting this war for three years longer than we have. Who are we to decide that they aren't worth giving a chance to escape?"  
  
"We could go to their base, link up, and fight through whatever Evans sends at us," Mark replied, with no enthusiasm. He knew what Matt would say, but he had to make the attempt to convince him not to stay anyway.  
  
"One planeload of carpet bombs, and Umbrella's enemies are gone. At least we're far enough underground that they can't reach us from the air," Matt said.  
  
"Unless they drop a bunker buster directly into the vehicle bay, or just nuke the Alpha Site," Mark answered.  
  
"Evans isn't going to know the specifications of the Alpha Site, specifically how far down we are, so he won't use a nuke, and can't use bunker busters. He'll want to make sure we're dead, which means he sends in ground personnel. We can hold out for at least two hours against them, as long as the Spectres hold up. If he sends in B.O.W.s first, it'll be even longer. I'm sorry Mark, but this has to be done," Matt concluded.  
  
"In that case," Mark said, offering his hand, "Good luck," 'And good- bye,' he implied.  
  
"You too. I feel sorry for you guys since you're going to be facing the really hard part after we're gone," Matt replied sullenly. "Keep them safe," he added, meaning the remaining SOC personnel. At this point, Mark was close to losing it, so he turned and walked towards the elevator as fast as he could, not able to handle the intense emotions that were present in the room.  
  
"I'm staying too," Paul Westings said, as he walked over to Matt. "Don't even bother trying to convince me not to. You'll need someone qualified to operate the Spectres, and if you think I'm going to let you make this last stand without a DefTek representative here, you're crazy." Matt stood in thought for a moment, considering his options. He finally reached the conclusion Paul wanted him to, and nodded slowly in the affirmative.  
  
"Welcome aboard. Now we've got a lot of work to do, and a very short amount of time to do it in." _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
The White House  
September 19, 2001 4:59 PM  
  
"The line is secured sir," Joseph Bennett said, handing President Evans the phone. "Lord Spencer is holding on the other end."  
  
"Thank you," Evans replied, before taking the offered phone. "I don't appreciate you dodging my calls Spencer," he growled.  
  
"Well hello to you too," he replied calmly. "And I haven't been dodging your calls. I have been in contact with my people on the ground, hunting for our common enemies. Something that your people have appeared to not be doing for the last two days. Have you found something, or do I need to arrange for another new U.S. President, one with enough backbone to finish the dirty jobs he started?"  
  
"If you would've answered my calls, you would've learned about what we found. That's why I'm going to pull my people out of the hunt, at least for the time being," Evans replied sternly.  
  
"Why? Because some lunatic, claiming to be an alien, threatened you? Don't make me laugh Evans. Now get your people back into the hunt, or I'll put someone in your place who will," Spencer threatened.  
  
"I will not throw my people, and I use the term my people because the units in Canada seem to be the only ones loyal to me, into an engagement against a foe armed with weaponry more advanced than anything we can even dream up. That's suicide, and I can't afford to lose any loyalist units, if I want to stay in power after dealing with the SOC and S.T.A.R.S. You're asking too much of me," Evans answered meekly. Even he didn't sound confident in his answer, but Spencer, instead of blowing up like Evans expected, only laughed softly.  
  
"Why don't I send in a few B.O.W.s first, to prove to you that their weapons are no more advanced than anything my people can grow in a lab. Afterwards, we can send in a combined unit, with your loyalists and my USF teams. If, for some reason, they do appear to have radically advanced weapons, you can just bomb or nuke them. There's no need for our partnership to end over something as trivial as this."  
  
"All right," Evans said, feeling much better now that he wouldn't have to waste his people in a futile assault. "I'll inform you as soon as we have something." With that, he placed the phone back on its cradle, and turned to the man sitting across from him. "So you're the infamous Uziman_1. According to the papers I have here, you were quite a nuisance to the previous administration. You managed to hack into the White House's "secure" network, broke into the Pentagon's systems and sent false orders to a full carrier battle group, and caused a global stock market shutdown. There's a whole list of other things here, but I think I've made my point."  
  
"First off, I want you to refer to me by my real name, since you haven't earned the privilege of calling me by my screen name," he replied.  
  
"Oh, fine, we'll play games then, Mr. Mccomb. I'm going to get right down to business; I want you to locate a renegade branch of the Central Intelligence Agency for me. In return, I'm offering full pardons for both you, and your girlfriend. Do we have a deal?" Evans asked.  
  
"That's quite a bit of information to digest in less than fifteen seconds, sir. As you know, news travels fairly slowly in the isolation wing of a maximum-security prison, so when I heard the President wanted to see me, I assumed I would be speaking to George W. Bush. I'd like to be able to re-acclimate myself to the world, find out what exactly has happened that's caused people to be out in the streets every day protesting you," Mccomb replied simply.  
  
"How about this, then. You have fifteen minutes, then you either decide to help me and receive the pardons, or you and your girlfriend go the electric chair. If you don't believe I'll do it, why don't you look up what happened to Dallas during your re-acclimation time," Evans said, before standing and walking out of the room. Two Secret Service agents brought a laptop to him, connected to a wireless Internet network. Mccomb rapidly went to work, hitting the major news networks to find out what had gone so wrong in the world since his arrest. After the allotted time, Evans walked back into the room, and the agents took the laptop away from Mccomb.  
  
"Have you made your decision?" Evans asked pleasantly, pretending the threats he had made never happened.  
  
"Do I really have a choice? I'll do it, but you have to be honest with me. Are you working for the Umbrella Corporation?" he replied, causing Evans to frown.  
  
"Now where did you hear that from? No matter, since we're going to be working together, and if I go down you'll hang with me, I might as well tell you. Yes, I am working with Lord Spencer and the Umbrella Corporation. Now please follow Mr. Bennett, and he'll ensure that you get whatever you need to do your job," Evans answered, smiling. "Welcome aboard, Mr. Mccomb." James nodded absent-mindedly, going over the conversation he had just before he was arrested.  
  
'So it's true,' he thought to himself. 'I really did just make a deal with the devil, like he said I would. I guess he was telling the truth about the other stuff too. So the fate of this war really is going to be on my shoulders. This is just too much.'  
  
"I'm going to need the tan backpack that was seized by the NSA when they busted me, and everything inside it. That includes the laser pistols, laptop, and the green and purple disks. I can manage with that," he said, making Evans perk up when he heard the term 'laser pistols' mentioned.  
  
"Of course," Evans replied, as he motioned for Bennett to carry out the task. "Whatever you want, you can have. Just find them."  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
SOC Alpha Site  
September 20, 2001 3:43 PM  
  
"Matt, President Bush is on the line," Greg said, handing the satellite phone receiver to him. The evacuation had been completed twelve hours prior, and Kenny was waiting to receive Bush's message before wiping the rest of the computer programs.  
  
"Mr. President, this is Colonel Matthew Ryan," he said.  
  
"What happened to Assistant Director Williams?" Bush asked, with more than a hint of confusion in his voice. He had expected to be having this conversation with Ian, it seemed.  
  
"He was evacuated several hours ago, Mr. President. All of the non- essential personnel have pulled out, leaving a little over two dozen volunteers to make sure your message gets out, and to buy time for the S.T.A.R.S. to escape," Matt answered directly.  
  
"So after this broadcast, Umbrella is going to know where you are," Bush stated, as if he had already guessed that to be the case by the way the conversation had gone. "I didn't realize that this message was going to cost two dozen people their lives."  
  
"Sir, Evans has probably already executed, or attempted to execute more than a hundred times that number, not counting Dallas, and if he's allowed to stay in power, we'd be lying to ourselves if we thought that he would stop carrying them out. It has to be done," Matt said solemnly.  
  
"I understand. Is there anything we can do for your families?" he asked sincerely.  
  
"Let them know that we love them, and wish there was another way to do this. And sir, make sure that Evans suffers before he's taken down. Give Ian fifteen minutes alone with him, if you could, sir," Matt said. Bush laughed at the last statement, before responding.  
  
"Consider it done. When we take back the U.S., you'll be remembered as heroes."  
  
"We're not heroes, sir. We're just doing our job. If anyone deserves that title, it would be the S.T.A.R.S. This is the fourth year they've fought against Umbrella, and they've gone way past above and beyond the call of duty," Matt answered.  
  
"I guess there's nothing left to say. Good luck, and Godspeed. The file will be uploaded to your network in fifteen minutes. You have the thanks of a grateful nation," Bush finished, before hanging up. After waiting the aforementioned duration, the file was uploaded into the mainframe computer.  
  
"We've got it," Kenny said, as Matt walked over to the terminal.  
  
"Hit it," Matt stated, before sitting back to wait for the inevitable attack.  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
The White House  
September 20, 2001 4:17 PM  
  
"So, Mr. Mccomb, how was it again that you were arrested?" Bennett asked, out of curiosity. Sitting next to him was one of the greatest hackers the world had ever known, and he wanted to know the man's story, in case something would happen to him.  
  
"I fell for one of the oldest tricks in the book. I was hacking the State Department's server, and found a top-secret file. I couldn't resist taking a peak, and opened it. They had set up an ambush, and traced the line. I shut down the computer, but it was too late. SWAT kicked in the door, and the rest, as they say, is history," he said, with a sad smile. He left out the part concerning the AOL Instant Messenger conversation he had moments before his arrest, warning him, indirectly, about Evans. He still hadn't made up his mind about what to do, but his time to weigh options had just run out.  
  
"Find them or you're a dead man," President Evans growled, stomping into the room, slamming the door behind him, and turning on the television. President Bush appeared on the screen, and began addressing the nation.  
  
"My fellow Americans, it is with a heavy heart that I address you tonight. For over a month, you have lived under the oppression of a tyrannical government. Hundreds of brave men and women, chased out of their own country by the man who calls himself a "legitimate President" have fought back against both Evans, and those who have control over him. Two dozen of those brave souls have sacrificed themselves tonight to allow me to have the chance to speak to you directly. This will be your last chance to rise up against the illegitimate government. After tonight, we will be so badly scattered that attempts to speak directly to you will be impossible. I beg of you all to look into your hearts, and see what Evans is doing to you all. How many of you have neighbors that have simply "disappeared" in the last month? Millions of people have died because of Evans. We have ironclad proof linking him and his supporters to the terrorist attacks in Dallas, Shoreline and Raccoon City. Those massacres will be repeated unless the American people rise up. Do not let those honored citizens die in vain for a bloodthirsty madman. Thank you, and good night."  
  
"Tell me you have their location," Evans growled. He snatched a pistol from one of the Secret Service agents, and leveled it at Jacob's head.  
  
"Almost," he muttered, as the trace signal bounced it's way through the last two routers. "I've got it. Here," he said, turning the laptop screen around so it faced Evans.  
  
"Get this location sent to our people and tell them I want this place flattened. Now," Evans said, motioning to Bennett. "Mr. Mccomb, it seems I owe you two presidential pardons. Thank you for your services." Jacob stood, and wiped the perspiration from his hands. He had managed to pull it off, and Evans' people never realized it.  
  
'I hope I did the right thing,' he thought to himself. He had completed the trace program with ten seconds left in the broadcast, and managed to slip a warning into the rogue operatives' computer network. With any luck, they would have at least an hour's warning to let them know that company was coming. 'Good luck,' he added silently.  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
Location Unknown  
September 20, 2001 4:19 PM  
  
"Have a nice day, sir," the UPS deliveryman said as he handed a small cardboard box over to the small house's occupant.  
  
"Thanks," Jonathon Liparti replied, with a smile. He had been expecting a package for the last three days, needing it in order to complete the special report he had been preparing on corruption in the oil industry. He grabbed a pair of scissors and cut the tape holding the box shut, before noticing that there was no return address on it.  
  
'Oh, crap,' he thought, realizing that someone had probably sent him a bomb, and that by cutting the tape, he had most likely armed it. "It's been a good run," he said aloud, closing his eyes and flipping open the lid, awaiting the afterlife. After several seconds of nothing happening, he glanced down to see a DVD, placed inside a clear plastic case, as well as a short note.  
  
"Mr. Liparti, I can't say that we've ever had the pleasure of meeting, but I am an, associate for lack of a better term, of your sister," he read aloud, pausing after reading the last few words. 'It can't be. Serena's funeral was months ago,' he thought, before continuing to read. "I know it's hard to believe, but there was no training accident. She has continued to serve her country, and she, along with the people that I represent, need your help. At the end of this message is a website address, along with a password to access a secured global communications network. After viewing the enclosed DVD, you'll know what to do, and when to do it. The lives of thousands of people including your sister, and potentially the whole planet, are at risk. I wish you the best, and regret that I couldn't be there to deliver this in person, but there was an, unanticipated, delay that we ran into. Good luck. Signed, Jonathon M. Davis, Colonel, EAMC," That concluded the message, leaving Jon in a state of near-shock, first learning that his sister was actually alive, then that the fate of the world had seemingly just been dumped in his lap. He decided to find out exactly what was so important as to put the planet at risk, and walked into his small living room, placing the box and letter on the couch, and the disk inside his DVD player. He stepped back while the device turned on, and watched in awe as the final official press conference of President George W. Bush played out in front of him. He remained ramrod straight until the DVD ended, then realized exactly what it was he was supposed to do. 'The only question,' he thought to himself, 'is when.'  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Ladies and gentleman, how about Chapter 13? *Waits for applause, and receives none* Well, that's okay, because we are now one step closer to the conclusion of part 1. I know, it's hard to believe that I started this project way back in July (as well as the fact that it's taken me close to two months to update; I'm really sorry, and I promise to do my best to make sure it never happens again), and that I'm not even halfway done yet. Which brings me to some more bad news.  
  
I know, it's turned in to my own personal Duke Nukem Forever (For the uninitiated, DNF was/is a computer game that was supposed to come out every year since 1997, and has become sort of an inside joke in the video game industry. For example, if a game gets delayed, the release date is changed to say "When DNF comes out," or something to that effect), but for the time being I've decided to pull the plug on The Fall of Umbrella, for the foreseeable future. I really hate to do it, but after seeing how long it's taken me to get to this point, I don't think it would be fair to conclude part 1, and spend another God-knows how many months rehashing everything I've already done, forcing you all to wait a year, most likely, for the final part of this story.  
  
Now that doesn't mean that I'm never going to get around to writing it, only that there's been a shift in my writing priority. Immediately (and I mean the bloody day after this time) following the conclusion of O: FS 2K1, I'm going into the series finale, O: FS 2K2. That means that the day after I post the last chapter for this story, I'm diving right back in, and starting 2K2. No breaks, no well-earned vacation (well, maybe a short breather to organize my thoughts so I don't end up leaving loose ends, and promising to include stuff but forgetting to deliver until four chapters after I meant to write it in), but more knuckle-cracking, eye-straining, headache-inducing (I think you've gotten the point), adventures.  
  
And now on to the thanks for this chapter. Thanks to Rhys D for, well, everything, Sporty_Girl for coming back, and continuing this story universe, Linkin Park for being amazing (without Live in Texas, I don't know how this chapter would've gone up), and everyone and everything else I've forgotten to mention. And did anyone else happen to notice how at the beginning of the chapter I said I was going to try and keep these chapter lengths under control, then I go and bust out my longest one yet? It's a strange, strange world.  
  
I know I've left a lot of stuff unsaid (including several backgrounds, which I'll now be doing at the end of each chapter, instead of in a big group), including stuff that just slipped my mind (and I'll probably be kicking myself later), but it's high time to wrap this chapter up. One last thing in case anyone is confused, Jon Liparti is Serena Baccarin's brother. That's all I've got, except for (you all know what's coming) the COMING ATTRACTIONS!  
  
Next Chapter: Months of careful (most of the time) preparations, tens of thousands of words, and one very twisted (come on, you know it's true) imagination finally come to a head, delivering the mother of all chapters. I'm talking about plot twists (I'm going to come right out and say it, if you think you know anything other than what I tell you is going to occur next chapter, you're almost certainly wrong), action, and a bombshell revelation that'll leave everyone reeling.  
  
Evans' troops launch their anticipated assault against the Alpha Site, as Matt Ryan leads the SOC volunteers into a suicide defense, hoping to buy enough time for the S.T.A.R.S. to escape Umbrella's and Evans' wrath. The Alliance delivers their reply to Evans' demand for recognition, and in general, it hits the fan. Stay tuned for the latest installment of my masterpiece, Chapter Fourteen: The Last Full Measure  
  
Author's Notes, Supplemental: Yes, in case anyone is wondering, the inspiration for the name of the next chapter did come from the third book in the Gettysburg trilogy (soon to be the third movie, along with Gettysburg and Gods & Generals), and some of the speeches featured in this chapter (specifically the one by Bush, and when Matt decides to swap places with Ian), were written with the soundtrack for Gettysburg (the movie) in mind. You all should see Gettysburg (it's, well, words can't describe how awe-inspiring it is), though Gods & Generals wasn't nearly as good. Until next time, Peace Out! 


	14. The Last Full Measure

Disclaimer: You all know what I'm going to say, so sing it along with me (paraphrased from Dragnet, the movie). Everything is owned by the people who own it. Anything I create for this story is owned by me. Submitted characters are owned by their creators.  
  
Author's Notes: Well, as I write this it is, quite literally, the morning after. Last night I uploaded Chapter 13, and today I'm getting right into 14. And what a run it's been to this point.  
  
Almost a year of writing and over one hundred thousand words. Aches and pains, and several headaches have been induced by this story, but in all honesty, it's been worth every minute. I feel that my skills as a writer have grown a great deal since the beginning of this little work of mine, and I'm more than a little impressed that I've been cranking out chapters that are ten thousand words long or more, when the longest story I've written before this was thirty thousand words long (barely).  
  
There's so much for me to say here, including thanks to all of my readers/reviewers. Though I started this project to give a semi-interesting background to my character Matt Ryan for his role in Sporty_Girl's story Resident Evil: Blood Ties, I've gone off and created a whole story universe. The only reason that this fiction has gotten anywhere near as long as it is now is because I've felt the need to delve deeper into this universe, and put all of these ideas in my head down into a story.  
  
Before I begin Chapter 14, I'm going to explain a little bit of the process I go through when I develop a story (more specifically, this one), and go through a few personal reflections (if you don't care, just skip on down to the beginning of the Chapter). It all started about ten months ago, when I entered a lottery to have a character in Sporty_Girl's story, Blood Ties. I sat down, pumped out a character (Matt Ryan), with a short, two- page background, and sent it in. Lo and behold, he made it in. At that point, I sat down, and thought to myself, 'Hey! Self! You've got a character here, and in his background you mentioned that he spent two years fighting Umbrella. Wouldn't it be great if you went and wrote a little something going into further detail about those two years?' The rest, as they say is history.  
  
I'm going to be completely honest here; when I first started writing, I had a beginning, and a very vague idea of how I wanted this story to end. In fact, it's still fairly vague, but I'm now nearly halfway done. That means that I've introduced and developed at least two dozen main characters (some submitted by others, some of my own design), and conducted a war between an international corporation, and a government agency. Pretty exciting stuff, eh?  
  
Of course, it's not nearly that simple. When I finish a chapter, I have a rough idea of what I'm going to do for the beginning of the next. After a few hours, days or weeks of working through those rough ideas in my head, I begin to write. I actually visualize each separate scene in my head, picturing the characters and how I expect them to interact with their surroundings. In other words, when you're reading a chapter of mine, you're looking at my best attempts to transcribe a mental TV show (and it actually works out kind of nicely, since it takes me about forty-five minutes to read through a chapter, making it seem to be the same length as a one-hour TV show, with commercials). I know, it's confusing, and it probably makes me sound just a bit more crazy than I actually am (come on, how many sane people would sit down and write over one hundred thousand words, and not profit from it whatsoever?), but that's okay.  
  
Anyway, I take the rough visualization, and mentally work it down into what eventually becomes the final product. After about two weeks of actually writing the chapter (including time to go back and tweak small details), it's about as ready to go as I can make it. I usually procrastinate for a few days (quick proofreadings, limited Internet access, etc.) before posting, and waiting for feedback. After a (normally) one or two week delay, the process repeats.  
  
So that's about how my creative process works. Of course, I have a brief outline of things that I need/want to do up until the end of O: FS 2K1, but by the end of a chapter, I've usually overshot the timeframe I've established. But that's okay, my original goal was to end O: FS 2K1 at the 15-chapter mark, but as you can see I still have about three months worth of story to tell, and I'm at number 14. Not quite sure how I'm going to deal with that yet, but we'll just have to see what happens. Anyway, I think it's high time for,  
  
Operation: Falling S.T.A.R.S. Chapter Fourteen: The Last Full Measure  
  
SOC Alpha Site  
September 20, 2001, 4:20 PM  
  
"So that's it then," Matt said calmly as he looked up at the computer screen. A pair of spinning Uzi submachine guns, the trademark of the hacker Uziman_1, Ken explained, continued spinning on the monitor. "They know where we are."  
  
"They'll wait until night to hit us," Greg said, walking up next to him, "But they'll have a loose perimeter established, in case we try to run."  
  
"If they expect that, they're in for a very nasty surprise. At least we'll have a few hours to set up the welcoming committee," Matt replied with a slight smile. He walked towards the elevator leading to the parking garage, wanting to check up on Zach and Paul Westings as they calibrated the Spectre defense guns that had been installed after the SOC's hasty retreat into Canada. As he entered the bay, he saw Paul operating a laptop, and Zach tossing various small objects into the defense guns' line of fire. Both of them swiveled to follow the objects, tracking them until they hit the ground.  
  
"All right, they're working fine," Paul called, waving to Zach to have him come back. "Hi Matt," he added. "We just finished up calibrating the Spectres. They're both working perfectly, in both the manual and auto- track modes."  
  
"Good. We're going to be having company soon, and I want to be ready to roll out the welcome wagon by the time they get here. Do you know how the other preparations are going?" Matt asked.  
  
"Teams 11 and 22 are out laying mines around the surface elevator, and the vehicle bay. Victor and the rest of Team 4 are hauling up ammo for the Spectres, and everyone else is assembling weapons caches in various locations around the facility. Am I correct to assume that the plan is to hold on to each area for as long as possible, retreat back into the facility, and set off the self-destruct when we've suckered in as many of them as we're going to?" Paul asked, as Matt nodded. "Good. While I would normally suggest sending a Team or two outside to soften up any attackers, exposing our people to sniper fire, especially with our very limited numbers, might not be a good idea."  
  
"I agree. My preliminary plan is to have two Teams guard the elevator shaft leading to the surface, two stay in reserve, and everyone else concentrate in the vehicle bay. Between the Spectres, and the choke point created by the narrow road to the surface, we should be able to bottleneck any attackers here for a long time. We just need to worry about B.O.W.s, and running out of ammo," Matt added, surveying the nearly empty vehicle bay. Only a handful of vehicles remained, belonging to the volunteers who would buy time for the others. They had all been moved towards the side of the bay leading deeper into the Alpha Site, and emptied of gasoline so they could be used as cover without having to worry about their fuel tanks exploding while under fire. Steel plates from the firing range, some of them almost a foot thick, had also been welded to parts of the vehicles, enhancing their ability to provide protection. There was no other shelter in the bay, meaning that any attackers would be left horribly exposed to defensive fire.  
  
"That sounds fine to me. I'm going to stay here and operate the Spectres manually for as long as I can, then switch them over to automatic before we pull out. They'll give anyone that tries to get in this way a headache for quite a while. I'm glad we were able to give them more protection, since they're going to be the first targets for an attack," Paul said, with a smile. The Spectre autoguns had also received steel blast shields, leaving only their barrels exposed to enemy fire. Since the barrels were relatively small targets, the Spectres were expected to last for quite some time.  
  
"Okay. In the mean time, we should try to get some sleep, in shifts of course. We don't know when Umbrella and Evans' people are going to show up, and we're going to want to be ready for them when they do," Matt said. "We're going to need it."  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
The White House  
September 20, 2001 5:12 PM  
  
"Mr. President, if you want the S.T.A.R.S. taken out, we can have the job done in thirty minutes," one of Umbrella's bought-out generals informed Evans, as he sat deep in thought.  
  
"And if this "Alliance" has forces positioned to aid the S.T.A.R.S., are you still confident that our attack will succeed?" he finally asked.  
  
"Well Mr. President, we honestly have no way of knowing. The Pentagon formerly had detailed files relating to Alliance military capabilities, but they were all deleted, presumably by the same computer virus uploaded from the White House. But we won't know unless we send people up there to find out," the general replied.  
  
"Not yet. Let Spencer's people make the first move against the SOC. If they don't encounter any Alliance forces, we'll wipe the S.T.A.R.S. out with one bombing run. Make sure our forces are also positioned to support any attacks against the SOC launched by Spencer, but whatever you do, don't send them in during the first wave. And no matter what, if any Alliance military units show up, pull our people out. Do I make myself clear? No matter what," Evans replied, pronouncing the last sentence as clearly as possible, to ensure there was no confusion.  
  
"Of course Mr. President. When would you like to initiate operations?" the general asked.  
  
"Tell Spencer that we'll be in position and ready to move at 8:45 PM. The SOC and S.T.A.R.S. will no doubt be using whatever time we give them to prepare for our attacks, so we should try as hard as possible to deny them this opportunity. The SOC will also probably expect an attack at midnight, so moving up our timetable will still allow us to hit them at night, but also prevent them from being fully prepared for our attack," Evans replied with a sadistic smile. "And make sure that none of them manage to get away alive."  
  
"Of course, Mr. President," his general replied, leaving to carry out his orders.  
  
'So in a few short hours, my brother's death in Afghanistan will be avenged, and the two perennial thorns in my side will be removed. With no one to back, the Alliance won't dare act against me,' Evans thought to himself, remembering the news he had been given eight months prior, detailing his brother's death at the hands of the SOC operatives in Afghanistan. He had thrown in with Umbrella then, supplying them information, and eventually becoming their, 'What?' he thought to himself. 'Their puppet. Just like my brother, a slave to Spencer. Well, no more. Once I take care of the SOC and S.T.A.R.S., he's next. Then no one will be able to challenge my rule.'  
  
"Mr. Bennett," he called out.  
  
"Yes, sir?" he asked, walking into the room.  
  
"Please find Mr. Mccomb, and invite him to join me here. I want him to see the results of his hard work for us," Evans requested. Bennett nodded, and left to carry out his instructions. Once he left, Evans had the room to himself. "I guess all that's left is one final cast of the die, to establish once and for all my rightful claim to the Presidency."  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
Outskirts of the Sol System  
September 20, 2001 5:30 PM  
  
Very little light from the sun ever found its way out as far as Pluto. Even less made it out past the planet. To the handful of telescopes pointing towards that small corner of the solar system at that moment, the appearance of a very bright blue flash came as a startling surprise. When the flash didn't repeat itself, instruments were hurriedly re-calibrated; to discover whether the devices had simply experienced a mechanical failure or what they had seen was real. When nothing developed on that front either, most of the observers concluded that their eyes had been playing trick on them, or something to that extent. Less than four knew what had actually just occurred.  
  
Billions of miles away from Earth, a small ship made the transition from faster-than-light travel, reaching a dead stop in the shadow of Pluto. It then began to emit thick clouds of smoke, and transmitted a distress signal back home. Once the message was confirmed, the smoke emitters were powered down, completing the ruse. The ship then began to pick up speed, heading towards it's destination. Earth.  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
The White House  
September 20, 2001 8:06 PM  
  
"Mr. President, our forces are in position. Two loyal infantry companies, one each from the New York and Montana National Guards, have established an airtight perimeter around the facility. Our allies in Umbrella have contributed four squads of their USF commandos, along with an assortment of BioOrganic Weapons. They're just waiting for the go-mission from you sir," one of the "loyal" generals that Spencer had purchased said, briefing in Evans.  
  
"As I said before, we go at 8:30. If we breach the facility without the Alliance showing up, I want our people out, and the bombers in," he replied.  
  
"Of course, Mr. President. We have four F-117A stealth fighters on stand-by, armed with bunker buster bombs. If we encounter no extraterrestrial resistance, this mission should be a cakewalk," the general added. Evans paid careful attention to how he emphasized the word 'extraterrestrial,' putting as much malice as he possibly could into it. Obviously, the man wanted the operation to go off without a hitch, and Alliance intervention was currently the largest obstacle to that that anyone in the White House could come up with.  
  
"Excellent. I wish there was a way I could watch the last organized resistance to my power be crushed," Evans sighed. He had been looking forward to a show, more specifically seeing the facility's self-destruct going off, and burying the last of his problems forever.  
  
"Sir, we have a KH-11 reconnaissance satellite in geosynchronus orbit over the facility. We'll be able to watch the operation occur in real- time," the general replied with a smile.  
  
"You continue to amaze me, General," Evans said, while checking the wall-mounted clock. "Twenty minutes until this matter is settled, for good."  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
SOC Alpha Site  
September 20, 2001 8:17 PM  
  
"What have we got, Victor?" Matt asked, as he walked up to a computer monitor, showing the footage from various hidden cameras on the surface.  
  
"Enemy troops, both U.S. and Umbrella, in company-strength at least. They're holding position about a half-kilometer from us. I also saw about two-dozen cryo tanks, I'll let you guess what's in there," Victor replied.  
  
"They're sending in B.O.W.s too? Boy, we should be honored. A few hundred soldiers, with organic tanks, against two dozen of us. This could get interesting," Matt answered sarcastically.  
  
"No way. I bet we won't even break a sweat taking these guys down," Victor replied jokingly. Even though they were facing certain death, they were still able to find small traces of humor.  
  
"Just keep an eye on them, and give a shout when they start moving. Then get down to the vehicle bay, because we won't need the cameras any more," Matt said, before heading towards the bay himself.  
  
The huge underground facility that was the Alpha Site seemed even larger, in its near-abandoned state. Yet there was going to be plenty of people, along with killings, to be found there soon enough. Matt strode aimlessly throughout the complex, remembering better days that would soon be gone forever.  
  
"You look like you just lost your best friend," a voice said, snapping him out of his trance.  
  
"Not yet, Greg," Matt replied, with a sad smile.  
  
"Hey, come on, cheer up. No point getting depressed over something you can't change. Besides, maybe whoever's been looking out for us upstairs has an ace up their sleeve," Greg responded. Matt hesitated for a minute, before recalling that Greg didn't know anything about John, or the Alliance for that matter.  
  
"Remember, with Canada going to bat for us a few weeks ago? I'm sure that they didn't do that just because they were bored," Greg added. 'So that's what he meant,' Matt thought to himself, sighing with relief.  
  
"There's always hope. Come on, we're going to be having company soon," he replied. 'I just wish we had more than hope for support this time,' he added silently.  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
Umbrella Command Post  
Alpha Site Perimeter  
September 20, 2001 8:24 PM  
  
"From the time we receive the go-order, it'll take about seven minutes to get our people to the entrance to their vehicle bay. After that, depending on resistance, the facility will be ours anywhere between forty- five minutes and one and one half-hours after the go-order is given," the field commander for the USF squads reported, as Xenia smiled.  
  
"So, it seems that in less than two hours, the main opposition to Umbrella will be destroyed. Excellent. Major, you are dismissed to oversee last minute preparations," she said, looking out at the well-camouflaged vehicle bay a half-kilometer away. Though the doors to the facility were expertly painted to blend in with the undergrowth of the surrounding forest, they clearly were not airtight. Xenia picked up a pair of thermal goggles, tracing them over the doors again, and watching the warmer air from the facility drifting out into the cooler night air.  
  
'A shame that Spencer wants some of them alive,' she thought to herself. She knew that the upcoming battle would be costly, especially to the attacking forces, since they had specific orders to ensure they didn't kill priority targets. That meant they would have to use the extremely questionable physical descriptions that had been provided to them by Tom Walker, since it would be impossible to see their faces through the visors on their helmets. 'But a job is a job.'  
  
"Dylan," she called, getting the USF commander's attention, "have the men start waking up the B.O.W.s. It's time."  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
The White House  
September 20, 2001 8:29 PM  
  
"Mr. President, our forces are awaiting your order," the general said, holding a secure telephone in his hand.  
  
"I know," Evans replied, staring off blankly into space, considering for the last time whether he was willing to act. "General, all forces have a 'go' for the mission. Take that facility down."  
  
"Yes sir," the general replied, before talking rapidly over the telephone to the commander of the U.S. ground forces surrounding the Alpha Site. "Our forces have confirmed the 'go' order, and are moving out. We should have an uplink from the KH-11 momentarily."  
  
"So it all comes down to this," Evans stated matter-of-factly. On the inside, he was anxious for the operation to conclude, without any alien intervention. This would be his one chance to crush the heart of the resistance against him; he could not afford to lose. "Ah, Mr. Mccomb. I'm glad to see that you'll be here to share in our ultimate victory over our enemies. Please, take a seat," Evans said, gesturing to a chair that had been brought down from the Oval Office just for this occasion.  
  
"If you don't mind, I prefer to stand, Mr. President," James replied. 'He's really gone over the edge,' he thought to himself as he watched a large-screen monitor flicker to life, displaying the live feed from an overhead KH-11 spy satellite. The image started out at a low magnification, showing most of North America, before zooming in on the Alpha Site, to the point where the people surrounding it were roughly the size of ants, scurrying towards the underground base.  
  
"It seems they have mines deployed," one of Evans' aides commented, as two soldiers found out to their misfortune.  
  
"What are you going to do now?" James asked, as Evans smiled.  
  
"They're going to deploy their B.O.W.s," the general answered for Evans. "Then we'll see how long this pathetic facility lasts."  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
Perimeter of SOC Alpha Site  
September 20, 2001 8:30 PM  
  
"Everyone fall back!" one of the USF squad leaders yelled, after two of their number discovered the minefield surrounding the entrance to the SOC facility.  
  
"It's going to take hours to get minesweeping equipment up here," the USF field commander told Xenia, as he balled his fists up in frustration. "We don't have time to waste on this."  
  
"You're forgetting one important thing," Xenia replied, as she walked over to one of the portable B.O.W. cryo tanks, watching the Tyrant inside reviving from its cold sleep. "Those mines are going to have a human scent on them, since I'll wager that they were put in place only a few hours ago. The B.O.W.s can detect scents much better than the average human can. And since these are supposedly 'smart' B.O.W.s, all we have to do is tell them to avoid the scent until they reach the facility's outer doors, then we just follow the same route they took. In other words, we have living, breathing mine detectors right here. Isn't progress, as well as science, wonderful?" She smiled, then walked over to one of the armored cars the USF personnel had arrived in; picking through the supply of weapons that it contained.  
  
"I guess this will do," she muttered, picking up an M4 carbine, and working the bolt to ensure the first round in the magazine was chambered. "I'll have to talk to Spencer about getting some quality weapons for his little army after this mission is over." With that done, she walked over to where an ad hoc command post had been established, to meet with the four USF squad leaders, as well as their field commander.  
  
"I want the first squad inside the bay right after the B.O.W.s," she ordered, not waiting for them to even acknowledge her presence. "They're going to be bullet magnets, but due to their thickened skin, they should absorb most of the impacts, which means that the defenders are going to spend more time and firepower taking them down, rather than shooting at us. That will be their fatal mistake. Second and third squads will enter the facility thirty seconds later, armed with rockets and light machine guns. Fourth squad will wait until the initial enemy defenses are broken, then enter and pursue them deeper into the facility. The Americans are afraid to go in first, so that means we have to show them how real soldiers fight. Let's go people, we aren't getting paid by the hour."  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
The White House  
September 20, 2001 8:36 PM  
  
"There! There go the B.O.W.s. This is it," Evans said, wringing his hands in anticipation. The huge Tyrant-class, and smaller Hunter-class B.O.W.s slowly traced their way through the minefield surrounding the Alpha Site, until they finally arrived at the doors to the vehicle bay. He looked on in amazement as one of the massive Tyrants began stomping and pounding away at the recessed door, first bending, then breaking through the reinforced steel.  
  
"God knows I wouldn't wish one of those things on my own worst enemy," one of the aides in the room muttered, before realizing that exactly what he had said was happening. Evans turned back to the satellite feed, watching the creatures enter the facility, along with about a dozen USF soldiers. More of the USF soldiers holding position outside the doors went in a few seconds later, followed by the rest of them. The loyalist U.S. soldiers held their positions for a little longer, before advancing through the minefield. At first Evans wondered how they could do it without getting blown up, until he realized that the massive Tyrants must've left easy to follow tracks in the ground. The first of those troops was entering the ruptured bay when the feed from the satellite suddenly stopped.  
  
"What's going on? Someone get that picture back!" Evans yelled.  
  
"Sir," one of his aides replied, "The signal from our satellite is being jammed."  
  
"Jammed? How? And by who?" Before the aide could answer, a new image appeared on the monitor, that of a man, standing in front of a window with a clearly identifiable planet Earth in the background. Evans stared on in shock, as the man on the screen began to speak.  
  
"Good evening Mr. Evans. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Calvin Winston, and I am the Captain of the EAFS, pardon me, Earth Alliance Fleet Ship, Liberty. She is a member of the Vanguard-class of escort frigates, currently serving in our 7th Fleet. I have been authorized by my government to deliver our reply to your request for recognition." Evans began laughing, until he realized that Winston's eyes were narrowing. 'He can hear what we're saying,' he thought to himself.  
  
"You have a camera in here?" he asked the monitor, to which Winston nodded in the affirmative. "I'll assume that it will be removed after our conversation?" to which another affirmative nod was received. "Well then, Captain, feel free to continue," Evans added, his voice neutral, not betraying any of his thoughts.  
  
"Your request, as promised, was brought before our Council two days ago. I'll admit that there was more than a small amount of argument, before an agreement was reached. It's been decided that, since you currently are in the office, we will recognize you as the sitting President of the United States." Evans barely held back a smile, while Winston seemed to force out the last few words. "However," he continued, "that wasn't all that was agreed upon. The survivors of the Bush Administration have been officially recognized as both the legitimate government of the United States, as well as the government-in-exile. The results of those decisions will soon find their ways to the remaining nations on your planet that we have friendly relations with. You will find that no matter what your diplomats do after that, our verdict will carry more weight than anything you can come up with."  
  
"Then I hope you have room on your ship to take your people out of my country," Evans replied, the color in his face changing to a dark red. Throughout his entire life many things had happened to him, but he had never been talked down to like this.  
  
"You don't need to worry about that at all. Our personnel were evacuated quite some time ago, and let me be the first to wish you luck tracking down any of our bases. In the mean time, there is one more thing I've been asked to deliver, on behalf of my government. Weapons, what is your status?" he asked, to someone standing off-screen.  
  
"Sir, port and starboard missile batteries are locked on target, along with the port-side guns. We're ready to fire on your command," the person managing the ship's weapons station replied.  
  
"Then I guess our conversation has just about ended, Mr. President." The last two words were, by far, the most sarcastic that Evans had ever heard. "Our government is not going to be bullied by tyrants who launch coups against the legitimate government, and murder millions of their own people in an attempt to justify it all. I hope you enjoy the next few hours, because starting tomorrow, your days are numbered. Weapons, fire for effect!" Winston barked, as he made a slashing motion across his throat. The video link was instantly terminated, returning the monitor's display back to the SOC Alpha Site. Suddenly, the secure phone hanging on the wall began to ring.  
  
"Sir, it's NORAD," one of the aides said, upon picking up the phone. "They've detected numerous projectiles entering the upper atmosphere over North America. They don't have any projected targets yet, but at the rate they're travelling, they'll hit the ground somewhere in North America in less than a minute." The two Secret Service agents in the room rushed over to Evans, in an attempt to drag him towards safety, but he realized that there was nowhere he could run to in less than a minute.  
  
"The tracks on the projectiles are firming up, sir. They'll be landing somewhere in Canada," the aide added. They still weren't calling the inbound projectiles what they actually were yet, missiles and large- caliber shells. 'I guess the fact that we're being bombarded from orbit hasn't sunk in yet,' Evans thought to himself.  
  
"Someone tell our people at the Alpha Site and surrounding the S.T.A.R.S. to hunker down, right now!" the loyalist general yelled, already knowing it was too late. Those troops were about to pay the price for their support of the usurper to the Presidency.  
  
"Dear God," someone said, as the first warheads slammed into the ground surrounding the facility. At first, Evans held out some hope, since the explosions seemed to be fairly small, until he realized that the objective of the strike was to cut down the attackers on the Alpha Site. Any high-powered weapons would probably have the opposite effect, damaging or destroying it. Instead, numerous low-level explosions blanketed the area, cratering the ground and incinerating everything around the SOC base.  
  
"Sir, NORAD reports a second wave of contacts, as well as a large object leaving orbit. The new contacts seem to be following the same path of entry the previous ones did," the aide on the phone said.  
  
"Our forces surrounding the S.T.A.R.S. haven't been hit yet. This volley will be for them," the loyal general said, just ending a conversation with the leader of the ground forces at that location. "They're going to have to be written off completely."  
  
"I want our stealth fighters to bomb both of those bases into the ground now," Evans barked. Several seconds later, the aide on the phone to NORAD looked over at Evans.  
  
"That's not going to be possible sir. We've picked up low-level electromagnetic emissions in the atmosphere, after three missiles prematurely detonated in the area the stealth fighters were occupying. And it seems another three were faulty, since they dropped off the scopes, with no reported damage," he said.  
  
"What does that mean?" Evans asked, not knowing what the aide was hinting at.  
  
"The fighters were victims of an electromagnetic pulse, or EMP. All we can hope for is that the pilots were able to eject in time. That means that, if they're smart, the S.T.A.R.S. will have a window to evacuate their base, and make a break for freedom unopposed, once this volley hits. And the faulty ones, well, I guess even advanced technology fails once in a while," Evans' chief general replied.  
  
"I want this facility taken out," Evans growled, jabbing a finger at the monitor still displaying the Alpha Site. "No matter what."  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
Upper Orbit, Earth  
September 20, 2001 8:43 PM  
  
"Sir, all hostiles in the first target zone have been neutralized, and our second volley should be hitting the second zone in less than thirty seconds," the weapons officer stated, as Captain Winston smiled.  
  
"Excellent. What's the progress on the special delivery?" he asked, turning to face his bridge crew. They had all served with him, some of them for the better part of a decade, and he knew he could trust them all with the information he had just revealed. Several heads turned at the mention of 'special package,' knowing full well what connotation went along with the phrase.  
  
"All packages are in the mail, sir," the Communications officer replied. "We should be getting delivery confirmation momentarily."  
  
"Good. Helm, take us out of orbit, and plot in a course to Alpha Centauri. Once we receive confirmation that the packages are on the ground, take us out of here. We've got a war to win," he stated, as he turned back to look out at the shrinking planet Earth.  
  
"Course plotted. All hands, stand by for jump," the Navigation officer stated, as Winston nodded.  
  
"Have we received confirmation that the package is on the ground?" he asked. When he received the affirmative nod, he smiled. "Jump." With that, the same blue flash from before appeared, swallowing the ship and catapulting it towards its destination light years away.  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Upper Atmosphere, Canadian airspace, Earth  
September 20, 2001 8:44 PM  
  
While the Liberty finished plotting its course out of the system, the second volley from its bombardment was seconds away from striking the planet. That volley included a trio of massive teardrop-shaped projectiles, which seemingly self-destructed well before impacting the surface. They were, in fact, much larger than the missiles and shells that NORAD was tracking, but the sophisticated stealth suites built in to the pods ensured that they appeared no larger than the aforementioned projectiles on radar.  
  
Upon reaching a height of roughly eighty miles above the Earth, the three projectile in question split open, with the jettisoned shell breaking up in an effort to further confuse ground radar operators. Anyone watching these three projectiles would see fragments spinning off, on random vectors. It would be assumed that those three projectiles were faulty and had been destroyed in the atmosphere, and they would be written off as such.  
  
In the mean time, the contents of the drop pods continued down nearly perpendicular to the ground, minimizing their radar cross-section, which, combined with the jamming fields they generated, served to completely mask the falling objects from electronic detection. By this time, they had fallen to about ten miles above the Earth's surface, travelling at almost four times the speed of sound. They continued downward for a few seconds longer, before the lead object ignited engines, lifting the front section up, so that the object, clearly a ship, was now parallel to the ground. The other two followed suit, as the engines continued firing, until they were at a dead stop roughly one hundred meters above ground level.  
  
The trio of vaguely cross-shaped ships turned then, heading south, towards the United States. Each ship had four large, rectangular objects magnetically attached to the undersides of their wings, weighing them down slightly. Nevertheless, they had all escaped detection, thanks to the chaos caused by the orbital bombardment, giving them free reign to complete their mission. They could not afford to fail.  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
SOC Alpha Site  
September 20, 2001 8:38 PM  
  
"Here they come!" Kenny yelled, as a pair of Tyrants strode down the ramp leading to the surface. One was instantly cut down, falling victim to a decapitating shot from the sole Archangel on-site, while the other drew the fire of one of the Spectre autoguns. Automatic weapons fire from the vicinity of the ramp announced the arrival of the USF troops, which was responded to by the second Spectre. The 20mm rounds cut through body armor and flesh, slaughtering the first wave of soldiers and the Tyrant. Four of the initial twelve pulled back, to await reinforcements from the surface. The B.O.W.s slogged forward though, with a new wave of Tyrants using the corpses of their fallen brothers as shields against the withering fire. Suddenly, a pair of rockets shot overhead, detonating just behind the first defensive line in the bay. One of the armor-reinforced cars was obliterated, but luckily wasn't being used for cover by any of the defenders. The offending troops were engaged by two M-249 SAW light machine guns, manned by Dan of Team 3, and Victor of Team 4.  
  
"We need to hit those Tyrants!" Matt yelled, as Paul, taking cover in the hallway leading deeper into the facility, readjusted the Spectres to counter the advancing threat. At this point, eight Tyrants were in the bay, with two of them being shielded. Rather than make them the first target, the Spectres each picked up an unprotected Tyrant, and fired dozens of shells at them. The 20mm rounds impacted along the torsos of both creatures, with one of them actually being cut in half by the powerful shells. The creature, now only an upper body, tried to crawl towards the defenders, before finally expiring after reaching the halfway point in the bay. The guns had gone on to other targets by then, taking down another Tyrant, and seriously wounding a second, before the survivors were able to shield themselves in the same way as the others, using the corpses of their fallen comrades to absorb bullets. The bodies still weren't able to stop rounds from the Archangel, which lashed out and took down the wounded Tyrant, along with a second one with several seconds later.  
  
Unfortunately for the SOC defenders, the USF troops used the lull in fire against them to their advantage, sneaking back down the ramp. Another pair of rockets lashed out, this time mangling the Spectre on the left side of the bay. Kenny managed to pick off one of the soldiers, but the remainder retreated without drawing any more fire. This left one Tyrant still in the bay, taking fire from both the sole remaining Spectre, as well as the Archangel. The corpse it was using as a shield was badly mangled by the 20mm rounds, with a few actually travelling through previous entrance wounds in the dead Tyrant's body, to strike the living one behind it. It was finally dropped with an Archangel round to the torso, which shattered the Tyrant's spine, leaving it to twitch on the floor of the vehicle bay until death took it. Quiet overtook the bay once again, as the Umbrella troops withdrew to reorganize.  
  
"We need to make sure they don't get their hands on that Spectre," Matt said, gesturing to the wrecked gun twenty-five yards in front of him. "If they're able to get that thing out of here and reverse-engineer it, the rest of the SOC is going to be in for some trouble in the future."  
  
"Cover me," Greg said, as he pulled out his demolition kit. "I'll take care of it."  
  
"Victor, Dan, keep suppression fire going on that ramp. Alternate your fire so there're rounds falling on it until Greg gets back here. Don't worry about ammo; we need to stay alive for as long as possible," Matt said, as Greg, in a crouch, ran as fast as he could to the trashed defense gun. He pulled a brick of C-4 out, cut a piece off, and stuck it to the base of the gun, before attaching a detonator and running back to cover in the same way as before. During the whole time, Victor and Dan kept a storm of bullets falling on the ramp, discouraging any USF soldiers from sticking their heads out. Greg made it back to the line without incident, and hit the detonator for the C-4. The remains of the Spectre went up in a huge fireball, with the small amount of ammunition left in the weapon cooking off as well, adding to the fireworks.  
  
"The other Spectre is going to need a reload," Paul called over the defenders' radio net. "I'm activating its autoloader. It'll be offline for a minute or two," he added, as the gun retracted back into the wall. Inside the hidden compartment, a machine was removing empty cases of 20mm ammo, and putting fresh ones in their places. Through the whole process, nothing stirred on the ramp.  
  
"Maybe they decided to pack it in and call it a day?" Kenny asked over the radio, knowing full well that it wasn't likely to happen. Suddenly, the walls of the vehicle bay began shaking, accompanied by the sounds of explosions on the surface.  
  
"Maybe somebody out there still loves us," Greg muttered, as he continued to gaze down the sights of his P-90, waiting for the inevitable return of Umbrella troops. He looked up, however, when he heard scratching coming from the ceiling. "They're coming through," he said, as plaster began to trickle down through a small hole in the ceiling, about ten yards in front of the defensive line. The Spectre finished reloading, swung back down, and placed a trio of 20mm shells almost directly where the hole was forming, sending more pieces of the ceiling crashing down, along with a small stream of blood.  
  
"Pull back!" Matt shouted, as the hole finally widened enough for the diggers to get through. Hunters began dropping down, springing forward into the defensive lines. Greg sprayed rounds from his P-90 into one, just before it could take his head off. Carefully aimed bursts from the Spectre managed to hold the rest of them back, until the SOC soldiers were able to fall back to the second line of converted automobiles. "Hit the claymores in the first line!" he added. The mines, which had been hidden under each line of cars in anticipation of their being overtaken, detonated. The surviving Hunters went up in a cloud of fragments, eliminating the B.O.W. presence in the vehicle bay for a second time. Another brief lull broke out, before a pair of smoke grenades landed at the bottom of the hole. The thick smoke prevented the Spectre from engaging the Umbrella soldiers who were obviously dropping down the hole, but had no such effect on the SOC troops. They flipped down their goggles, and switched them over to thermal, in time to see the unexpected. Four more Tyrants had dropped down, instead of the expected infantry.  
  
"Hit them with everything we've got!" Matt yelled, putting bursts of armor-piercing bullets into the approaching beasts. He had decided earlier that there was no point in saving the precious rounds that he purchased out of his own pocket, and used them for the first time in months. Two of the Tyrants were rocked backwards under a wall of fire, but the remainder continued to advance into the now-wrecked cars of the first line. One picked up a car, and hurled it at the remaining Spectre. The vehicle not only took out the gun, but also continued on into the hidden compartment behind, ruining the autoloader. A member of Team 11 fired an incendiary round from a Cobra Auto grenade launcher into the compartment, cooking off the ammunition, and making sure the Spectre was unsalvageable. The Archangel came into play again, dropping the Tyrant responsible for taking out the last defense gun, but the damage had already been done. The weapons that Matt had been counting on to hold out for at least a half-hour were both scrap metal in a little more than half that time. He would have enemy infantry deploying into cover, though not equal to what he possessed, since the cars had intentionally been under-armored on the side the USF troops would be using for protection. And to top it off, he had three living, breathing tanks, for the lack of a better word, forty feet in front of him.  
  
"Back to the last line," he called out, as a second Tyrant fell, this time to a TOW missile that someone fired at it. Unfortunately, the order to withdraw wasn't given fast enough.  
  
One of the two surviving Tyrants grabbed a car from the first defensive line, and instead of throwing it, used it as a shield, and charged the second defensive line. With the Spectres destroyed, there was nothing to fire into the flanks of the creature, so it was able to advance with near-impunity. Before anyone could react, it had reached the second line, currently occupied by about half of the defenders in the bay. Having reached its objective, the Tyrant ditched the car, and lashed out at the defenders. Matt, still using his goggles in their thermal mode, watched his friends fly through the air, at least one with a cloud of heated blood behind him. In anger, he strode towards the beast, ignoring both Dan and Greg, who tried to pull him to safety, and began to unload on the Tyrant. His rifle ate into its 50 round clip hungrily, almost as eager as its user to slay the monster before him. It finally clicked empty, with the Tyrant swaying back and forth, ready to fall over. At this point, Matt switched over to the attached shotgun, and delivered a double-blast at point-blank range. Not contented, he repeated the process until the magazine for that part of his rifle clicked empty as well. He quickly let it go; allowing the sling to catch the weapon, and drew his Desert Eagle, but the damage was already done. The Tyrant had gone down, and Matt suddenly remembered that there was a second one unaccounted for. He glanced around, searching for it, until he saw its corpse lying off to his right.  
  
"Larry, from Team 11 got it with the Archangel. We need to get the wounded out of here," Greg said, as Kenny, Grant and Rob ran up to check on their fallen comrades.  
  
"Bill from Team 11 is KIA," Kenny called, checking again for a pulse, just to be sure.  
  
"I've got two here from Team 22, both unconscious, one cut up pretty badly," Grant added, as Victor moved to help him by carrying the second wounded man to safety.  
  
"I've got the third member of Team 22 here, and he's okay. Oh God, Dan!" Rob yelled, as he noticed the third member of Team 3 lying in a heap against the wall. "He's hit bad," he added, checking his friend for injuries.  
  
"Joe, get Teams 13 and 35 in to the vehicle bay right now. We've got wounded, and we'll need reinforcements to hold the bay," Matt called. He considered the order for a moment, before changing his mind. "On second thought, move up to the first weapons cache. We're pulling out of the bay. We're not leaving Bill behind, either," he added, keeping faith with the U.S. military's policy of not leaving the body of a fallen soldier behind.  
  
"Come on Dan, just hold on for a little while," Greg said, grasping the hand of his friend while they waited for a stretcher to come up.  
  
"You kidding? Put up with too much crap over the years to go out like this," he said, with a smile. "Besides, if Ana found out I let some freak of nature take me down, she'd kick my butt." He groaned slightly, the pain of the wounds just starting to appear. Greg opened up one of the pouches on his belt, pulling out a small medical kit, and selecting a syringe of morphine.  
  
"This'll help with the pain," he said, giving Dan the injection.  
  
"I can't believe Umbrella's cooperated this well with us," Kenny whispered to Matt, as he kept his eyes glued to the hole in the ceiling. The smoke had finally dissipated, allowing him to remove the thermal goggles, and see just how badly Dan was hurt. It didn't look good, that was for sure. He had a long cut running diagonal from his right shoulder almost all the way down to his left hip, and while it didn't seem to be very deep overall, it appeared that it might've gone deep enough in at least one location.  
  
"Where's that stretcher?" Matt asked over the radio net. Just after the question left his mouth, two members of Team 35 jogged up with the aforementioned stretcher. The rest of the reserve force filed in after them, and looked on in shock at the carnage found in the vehicle bay.  
  
"Since the medical bay is two levels below us, and we didn't count on being able to have access down there through the whole fight, we converted a few of the offices into ad hoc ERs. He's got a good shot of making it, at least as long as we hold on here," Joe Salings, leader of Team 35, as well as the reserve force said.  
  
"Who's running it?" he asked.  
  
"I pulled the medic from Team 27, and a member from Team 36 to act as surgeon and assistant. I figured that we probably wouldn't be getting much trouble from the elevator shafts," Joe replied.  
  
"Why not?" Matt asked, concerned. If the only other entrance to the facility was under-guarded, they were in for a lot of trouble.  
  
"Because I saw the feed, or lack thereof, from the cameras on the surface. Nothing's registering out to a distance of one kilometer, and it isn't because Umbrella found them all. To make a long story short, somebody flattened a whole kilometer in every direction around us. There's nothing alive up there, and Umbrella won't be able to get reinforcements up here, even by helicopter, for at least a little while," Joe stated. Matt realized where the explosions he had heard earlier came from, as well as what that meant.  
  
"They aren't attacking any more because they've been cut off. God, if only we knew how many of them were up there, and how well dug-in they were," he said, frustrated at his lack of information.  
  
"When in doubt, pull back to engage another day, Matt. Besides, if they've been holding back any B.O.W.s, they'll let those Umbrella thugs know we're coming before we can even get up there," Joe said, as the two members of the reserve force finished stabilizing Dan, and lifted the stretcher, carrying him back towards the makeshift hospital.  
  
"You're right. It looks like this just turned back into a siege," he replied, as he turned his back on the vehicle bay, for the last time.  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
SOC Alpha Site  
Umbrella-occupied Zone  
September 20, 2001 9:15 PM  
  
"Are you sure, there's still nothing from the surface?" Xenia asked, looking slowly at each of the surviving soldiers under her command.  
  
"Not for almost a half-hour. After those explosions, they went off the air. I'm afraid to find out what happened up there," one of the survivors, from the first USF squad no less, said. In fact after those explosions, the whole mission seemed to take a turn for the worst. They were currently parallel to the ramp leading down to the vehicle bay, about twenty feet above the SOC defensive perimeter, in a tunnel carved into the steel, concrete and then rock, by the four surviving Tyrants. She had planned on catching them unaware during the second infantry assault by dropping her Hunters down right on top of them, but like all plans, it didn't survive contact with the enemy. The force of USF soldiers, along with the surviving members of the U.S. military who made it inside before contact was lost with the surface, had pulled out before the Hunters could tunnel in. Not to mention the fact that someone had lined the ceiling with steel, and almost a meter of concrete, no doubt anticipating someone attempting to tunnel in from the surface. So in the end, she was down to a pair of Hunters, and two platoons of infantry, two thirds of which belonged to the combined National Guard companies. Not her ideal situation by far, but still enough troops to carry the day. She was sure, by this point, that she was facing no more than a squad, or two squads at worst, of the enemy. Of course, they still managed to cost her dearly; nearly a full platoon of soldiers dead, plus twenty-two B.O.W.s.  
  
"We hold for the time being. USF Second Squad, go back to the surface and re-establish radio contact. I want reinforcements down here, before the SOC gets aggressive and tries to push us out of here. Everyone else, start digging in and prepare to receive a counter-attack. We aren't going anywhere for awhile," Xenia replied, frustrated that the attack seemed to be on hold again. "Now it becomes a war of attrition. One which we'll win," she added, more to herself than anyone else. In the mean time, she focused on the conversation she had with Spencer, almost two weeks prior. She concentrated on the name and physical description of every SOC member she was supposed to take alive, so she would know which defenders she would go for kill shots with, and which ones she would only need to wound only. 'Ian Williams, Paul Westings, Matt Ryan,' she thought to herself, pausing at that name. She remembered him briefly, from her time in Afghanistan overseeing Special Operations.  
  
'A worthy foe. The next few hours will be very interesting,' she added silently, looking forward to the challenge. It would take all of her skills to bring him in alive, but she felt more than up to the task. Not to mention the fact that she had an ace hidden up her sleeve, or more specifically, among the defenders. 'Oh yes, when the time comes, things will be very interesting indeed."  
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Surprise! To all of my dear readers, guess what? It's true, I am evil enough to leave you at a cliffhanger; and it isn't even the end of Part 1 yet! You know what that means (and no, it isn't that you all are going to have to wait another month to find out what happens; I swear to God that this next chapter will be up soon); something BIG is going to happen to merit an extra nine-ish thousand words!  
  
So how about number 14, eh? Did it live up to your expectations? I hope I lived up to all of the promises I made at the end of the last chapter (you know, the Coming Attractions part), and that no one is going away disappointed (other than the fact that I'm making a cliffhanger ending for a chapter that isn't even the conclusion of Part 1), or not so disappointed that you won't come back to see what else I've got in store.  
  
A quick random statement, along with a READER CHALLENGE before I go on with this chapter's final thoughts; I just got the newest issue of Official Xbox Magazine (the April edition, I believe), which summarized some of the multiplayer maps for the new Splinter Cell game. One of them, ironically, has a name that is remarkably similar to, well; anything else I say would give it away.  
  
Here's the challenge. Find the name of the map (it'll be pretty obvious when you see it; I know I got a kick out of it), and send it to me in either a review or an e-mail. Whoever gets the name to me first gets a prize (and it's not going to be some cheap junk like a gold star or something, it'll be well worth making the attempt). To make it even more worth your while, I'll provide a small list of prizes to choose from.  
  
Maybe I should clarify what I mean by prizes, before I get some of your hopes up. I'm not talking about cool stuff, like TVs or video games, or stuff like that. I mean story-related prizes. This could include, but is not limited to, MY NOTES FOR THE REST OF O: FS 2K1 (yes, I know they're a jumbled mess, but I promise to clean 'em up for the winner), as long as they promise not to then e-mail those notes to everyone else who reads my story (it wouldn't be a prize if you did, so please keep the info secret), SOME BACKSTORY FOR THE Earth Alliance, and maybe some other stuff. Remember, though, you can't win unless you enter, so get on out there and find me that answer!  
  
And that's enough on that. To everyone out there who thinks that I should die, since I'm making you all suffer by dragging this out, well, too bad. I'm doing my best to get chapters up, but the education system for the state of Pennsylvania is making it increasingly difficult for me to get any work done (curse you, standardized testing!), even when I feel like typing. Not to mention the numerous papers, essays, and other assignments I have to type out for regular classes. In other words, I'm typing or writing so much that I can't stand to do this for entertainment. But have no fear; Easter break will soon be here! That means I'll have nine consecutive days of doing little or nothing, giving me the chance to really get this baby cranking (unless I'm still addicted to Counter-Strike; curse you campers!).  
  
Speaking of, we finally (after well over a year of promises and waiting for the stupid Cable Company to lay the lines) got a one-way cable modem! Let me tell you, you haven't really played multiplayer until you get broadband. Mmm, no lag. Now I just need to make sure my re-addiction to Counter-Strike doesn't eat all of my PC time, or this story will never get finished. And on that note, I think it's time to wrap it up. You know what that means. COMING ATTRACTIONS!  
  
Next Chapter: The cliffhanger from Chapter 14 continues on, as the Umbrella and U.S. forces under the command of Xenia hold on to their foothold inside the Alpha Site. Umbrella reinforcements arrive, and the fighting moves down into the main sections of the Alpha Site, with vicious close-quarter combat the norm. Will the SOC defenders be able to hold on long enough, and distract Umbrella and Evans long enough, for the S.T.A.R.S. to escape? Also, what mission in the United States is going to be carried out by the EA ground forces? To find out, you're going to have to stick around, and tune in for Chapter Fifteen: Last Resort.  
  
Supplemental: Yes, I know last chapter I promised to do a bio or two at the end of each upcoming chapter. Here's your character background for Chapter Fourteen!  
  
Franklin Evans  
  
Name: Franklin Evans  
  
Rank: President of the United States  
  
Age: 53 (DOB 7/12/1948)  
  
Height: 5' 9"  
  
Weight: 212 pounds  
  
Hair & Eye Color: Hair black and graying, eyes blue  
  
Background: Franklin Evans, before launching a coup and becoming President of the United States, served as the Undersecretary of State. He didn't earn much in the way of distinction in that position, only being appointed a scant eight months before launching his coup. How he managed to gather enough support in the government to pull this off remains unknown, but it is speculated that he took advantage of a pre-established network of high ranking government officials loyal to some unknown person or persons. He used this network to ensure that, when the time came to launch the coup, he would have enough people in position to quickly eliminate any opposition from loyal members of the government.  
  
However, one thing that was not counted on was that the SOC would have an Alpha Site, or that they would be able to fall back to it so quickly. The forces loyal to Evans that were dispatched to handle the now- rogue branch of the CIA instead found a smoking crater, where their high- tech headquarters once was. Not taking the SOC out would later come back to hurt Evans in a big way, as they initiated a propaganda war against him, delivering the truth about his coup to the American people. Additionally, several high-ranking government officials, loyal to the new regime, have been found murdered, in some instances very messily. SOC forces are suspected to be responsible for the ongoing attacks against his government.  
  
In his earlier, pre-government life, Evans was a mediocre stock trader, more often than not losing peoples' money rather than earning them anything. He divorced his wife of seventeen years, allowing her to keep custody of their two sons and one daughter, in order to concentrate fully on developing a political career. He worked his way up through the bureaucracy quickly, earning his own embassy in less than three years. From there, it was to the State Department, and the final, legitimate position he occupied before the coup. No further information is currently known about Evans, or any family he has.  
  
Personality: Based upon actions that he has taken since assuming the Presidency, it is safe to say that Evans is starting to become unglued. He has attacked citizens of his own country, declared martial law and trampled on the Constitution as well as the Bill of Rights. After the horrific incident at Dallas, it is safe to say that Evans is a man that will stop at nothing to take and hold power. He must be stopped at any cost. 


	15. Last Resort

Disclaimer: Everything in this story belongs to its rightful owner. I own the stuff I come up with, and other people own what they come up with, or acquire in some other legal way. It's just that simple.  
  
Author's Notes: Well, here I am. Just shy of one hundred thirty thousand words, and we're approaching the end of the first part of my epic story (I think it's safe to call it this). And what a ride we've (yes, we, because I'm in this just as much as the rest of you) had since I started writing, way back in June, 2003.  
  
It's been a rough ride, at some points. Times that I haven't updated for over a month (it seems like this happens with every chapter), or have updated, and made some huge mistakes. Ah, the times I've spent proofreading while waiting for the upload screen to open. Stuff like that.  
  
And in the end, I wouldn't trade any of it in, no matter what. I feel I've become a better writer thanks to this project (which by the end of the chapter will surpass the largest story I've ever written by the small sum of one hundred and ten thousand words), and overall grown as a person. I'd like to thank everyone who's stuck with me to this point, and everyone who's going to be reading this down the road, as they jump in somewhere in the middle of O: FS 2K2 or The Fall of Umbrella (I promise, it's not dead yet!), and scramble to find out what happened in the first part of this story.  
  
This is just a short warning; if it seems like I'm rambling on with a bunch of sentimental crap, well, I am. Just scroll on down to the start of the chapter if you really want to skip it (but you might miss some important stuff if you do); I won't complain.  
  
Anyway, big thanks to everyone, especially to Rhys D for (very carefully) reading every chapter, and pointing out the important stuff that I forgot to add (and being such a good mind reader. You really should call the CIA or something). Also to SportyGirl, William, KJ, and everyone else who has reviewed, e-mailed me, or contributed in some other way to this story. Your help has been greatly appreciated, and is ensuring the continuation of this story to its action-packed, gory, dramatic end (what, you would expect anything less?).  
  
I'm a little disappointed that no one's figured out the Reader Challenge from last chapter, though I have a feeling it's more from a lack of readers than anything. Go figure. It's still open, until someone sends in the answer (or I decide to just end the challenge), so get out there and find the answer people!  
  
That's about all the blabbering and jibber-jabbering I have to do for this chapter's introduction. Now sit back, relax, and enjoy the conclusion of last chapter's cliffhanger ending.  
  
Operation Falling S.T.A.R.S.  
  
Chapter Fifteen: Last Resort  
  
SOC Alpha Site  
September 20, 2001 9:30 PM  
  
"It's way too quiet out there," Joe whispered, watching the feed from the vehicle bay's security cameras on a laptop computer. They had been watching the bay carefully since pulling out fifteen minutes earlier, waiting for Umbrella's troops to take it, and re-start the battle. So far, that hadn't happened.  
  
"We need to have a camera on the surface, so we know what's going on up there," Matt said, as he put a fresh 7.62mm magazine into one of the pouches in his combat vest. "We're blind enough already not being able to see what they're doing above the vehicle bay; I don't want to be clueless about what's going on up on the surface. Zander?" he asked, as the young Team 3 member looked over. "Think you can rig something up?"  
  
"Sure," he replied, as Matt paused for a moment. He remembered when Zander was going out on his first SOC mission; the disaster in Shoreline. He had changed a great deal from the nervous, eager-to-impress relatively green soldier he was that day. Months of combat experience against Umbrella had helped him to mature into the well-trained soldier he was now.  
  
"All right. Paul?" he asked, searching for the DefTek representative.  
  
"Here," he replied, stepping into the security office. The room had been designated the provisional command post, since it had feeds from all the security cameras in the facility, and offered a centralized location to coordinate the defensive action.  
  
"I want you to help Ken run diagnostics on our back-up satellite receiver. The primary obviously got nailed by whatever explosions went on up there," he said, gesturing towards the surface, "and we need some way of communicating with the outside world. I want to know the minute the S.T.A.R.S. get clear, so I have some sort of idea when I can start up the self-destruct. I don't want to start it too early, and have the base go up before the S.T.A.R.S. escape. Think you can help?" Matt asked, as Paul nodded.  
  
"I can do that. Where is he, again?" he asked in return.  
  
"In the Maintenance Wing. Once you've got an update on that receiver, I want to hear it. Until then, we keep hunkering down, until Umbrella makes another push against us," Matt said, before adding, "Which shouldn't be for a while, since we rigged the vehicle bay up with enough explosives and mines to slow them down a bit."  
  
Surface of the SOC Alpha Site  
September 20, 2001 9:33 PM  
  
"Repeat, this is Knight 2-1. Code Raven, I say again, Raven. Surface forces have been decimated, cause unknown. Requesting immediate reinforcements," the acting commander of the USF Second Squad said, adjusting the transmitter on his radio.  
  
"Roger that Knight, this is Base Camp, and we acknowledge the Code Raven," he heard in reply, after six minutes of trying to raise them. "Be advised, forces encircling the renegade S.T.A.R.S. have been completely wiped out. Advise that you prepare for the possible arrival of hostile forces by air. Reinforcements are en route, and will begin arriving at your position in roughly one hour and five minutes. What is your situation, over?"  
  
"We're holding on to a foothold inside the SOC base. Enemy strength is estimated to be two squads. I repeat, two squads. It appears that a majority of the enemy forces have evacuated, before our arrival here. Two platoons of loyal troops, mostly from the National Guard, make up our current forces, along with a pair of Hunters," the commander replied. The radio operator at Base Camp hesitated for a moment before giving his reply.  
  
"Roger that. Two more platoons of USF troops, out of the Calgary Training Facility, have just lifted off to aid your assault. Updated ETA for friendly forces is one hour. Command wants you to secure your position, and await their arrival. The S.T.A.R.S. are being written off, since it appears the same sort of weapons that eliminated the units on the surface at your location was used near their facility. Satellites have been unable to lock on to that area for confirmation, so a Quick Response Force has been scrambled to assess the condition of the base. They will arrive shortly after your reinforcements," the radioman replied.  
  
"Why so long?" the squad leader asked, as two of his men finished patrolling around the facility, and confirming that all of their accompanying forces had been wiped out.  
  
"Forgive me for not clarifying. The QRF consists of three platoons of USF, which are somewhere over Minnesota right now. They were being airlifted up from Mexico to assist in the search for exiled members of the former U.S. government at the time, and have been redirected to a forward deployment post. Believe it or not, they are the closest available loyal reinforcements that aren't already heading for your position," he replied.  
  
"What about non-loyal or questionably loyal forces? Are any of them closer?" the squad leader asked, knowing that speed was of the essence in times like this.  
  
"A company of Army Rangers is twenty minutes away. They'll be receiving a direct order from the President momentarily," the man answered, smiling on the other end of the line. No one else had thought about using units whose loyalty was not one hundred percent assured. It was likely, he thought, that the Rangers would buy into their orders, stating that the terrorists responsible for Raccoon, Shoreline and Dallas had a facility less than a half hour from them, and that it was their responsibility to secure it. They would leap at the chance to avenge the murders of their countrymen, even though they were being ordered against the wrong people.  
  
"Copy that Base Camp. This is Knight 2-1 signing off, and awaiting reinforcements," the squad leader said, before powering down his radio. He decided that he had spent enough time out here, where so many people, luckily no one that he had known, had been slaughtered without even a chance to defend themselves, by whatever new weapon their enemies had managed to use. He would see to it that they didn't get the chance to do so again.  
  
Somewhere over the U.S. Western Coast  
September 20, 2001 9:37 PM  
  
It had been eight minutes since the flight of Earth Alliance ships split up, each heading for a pre-designated location. One had headed east, towards Europe. Another had continued south, towards Central America. The final ship had turned west, flying barely seventy feet above the ground. The pilot knew this area well, having flown over the trees, hills and valleys below countless times throughout the previous two years.  
  
His destination, to the naked eye, appeared to be nothing more than a flat, heavily forested area. The pilot pulled back slightly on the controls, flaring the ship's slightly-angled nose upward, and killing the ship's forward momentum. A patch of trees shimmered slightly, and disappeared, revealing a retracting metallic door, shielding an opening more than large enough to accommodate the nearly jumbo-jet sized ship.  
  
The ship slowly descended, as the pilot cut back on the power to the engine banks on the ends of the ship's wings, and shut off the engines at the rear of the ship completely, not needing them to provide forward thrust anymore. The ship continued downward, until it had descended beneath the protective door, which began sliding shut as soon as they were below it. As soon as it was fully closed, the holographic projection of trees returned, hiding the facility from prying eyes.  
  
Meanwhile, the pilot had extended a set of landing skids from the bottom of the ship and, gently easing the controls forward, taxied it into the first of roughly two dozen numbered areas. He cut the throttle back all the way, silencing the engines and setting the ship down on the ground. Finally, he flipped a switch, jettisoning the four containers under his wings. The ship bounced slightly, as the shock-absorbers in the skids expanded slightly, before returning the ship to its proper, stable state. A ramp on the rear of the ship lowered, and personnel and equipment were offloaded continuously for several minutes. The Earth Alliance, as promised, had returned.  
  
The White House  
September 20, 2001 9:45 PM  
  
"Would someone please get our satellites back on-line!" Evans screamed, looking at the static-filled monitors in front of him.  
  
"We're trying, sir. It looks like the same computer virus that infiltrated our systems in August has returned. Nothing we have is showing any effect on it," a technician replied, knowing that if he couldn't fix the problem, his life might be forfeit.  
  
"Mr. Mccomb, please see what you can do," Evans said, gesturing to his guest. Mccomb walked over to his laptop, and hooked it in to a wireless network adaptor that had been handed to him by an aide. He tapped at the keys hurriedly, frantically trying to counter the virus. He was also well aware of what would happen to him if he failed, even though helping Evans was one of the last things on his to-do list.  
  
"Come on," he muttered, running through dozens of different programs and commands, trying to either eliminate the virus, or trace it back to its origin. "Whoever encoded this thing is very good," he added, frowning. He was just about to give up, when the monitors began to come back on-line one by one.  
  
"You are a genius," Evans said, with a smile. Mccomb continued to frown however.  
  
'I didn't do anything to stop that thing,' he thought to himself. Having encoded some of the most sophisticated computer viruses on the planet, he believed he had acquired sufficient knowledge to combat them, if he needed. 'The way it kept changing, evolving, it was almost like the virus was alive.'  
  
"Thank you, Mr. President. I'm glad I was able to help," was what he actually said.  
  
"There's one more thing you could do for me," Evans said, before pausing. "I'd love to have my people take a look at your laser pistols. Just from what I've seen of the exteriors of them, there's some pretty sophisticated engineering at work there. Better yet, is there any way we could buy these off of you?"  
  
"No," Mccomb replied. "They've been in my family for years. I never got the chance to ask my parents where they came from. But if you want to, I don't suppose allowing your people to look at them will hurt."  
  
"Excellent," Evans said with a smile, as he waved for someone to come and take the weapons. The aide handled them gingerly, not wanting to risk setting them off. "We might be able to reverse-engineer something useful out of those. Rest assured Mr. Mccomb, they will be returned in the same condition that you gave them to us in."  
  
"Of course, Mr. President. Will you be requiring any more of my services?" he asked. Evans hesitated for a moment, obviously weighing letting his "guest" go versus having him stay in case the virus decided to re-appear. Finally, he seemed to come to a decision.  
  
"No, Mr. Mccomb. You have been more than helpful, something that I wish some of my adversaries, or should I say soon to be former-adversaries would be. Is there some way we can reach you, when we're ready to return your pistols?" Evans asked, his voice full of gratitude. Whether it was real or feigned was beyond Mccomb's skills to deduce, but if he had to hazard a guess, he would put money on the latter.  
  
"I believe your people have my e-mail addresses, and telephone number. I'll be staying in the same apartment I had before our wonderful federal agents paid me a visit," he replied, with a smile, as genuine as he could muster. He felt a sudden urge to leave the room, and get as far away from this genocidal maniac as possible.  
  
'I need to run that virus down, before Evans calls me back to fight it off again, and it doesn't stop on its own, like it did this time,' he thought, knowing he still wasn't safe, and probably wouldn't be until Evans was taken out. If it ever happened.  
  
Umbrella, Inc. Main Office  
Paris, France  
September 20, 2001 9:50 PM  
  
"Lord Spencer, Mr. Trent is here to see you," one of Spencer's many secretaries said, this time over the intercom rather than risking entering the office to see him personally. Upon learning that a large part of the forces that he had deployed to Canada to hunt the S.T.A.R.S. and SOC had been mercilessly butchered, Spencer went into a rage. Trent was one of the few people that could even enter the office without becoming an immediate target of that rage. He pushed the door open, strode up to the chair across from Spencer's desk, and sat down, unbidden.  
  
"What do you have for me, Mr. Trent?" he asked, struggling to regain some sort of composure.  
  
"Some excellent news, in fact. First," he said, sliding several surveillance photos across the desk, "It seems that a certain Albert Wesker was spotted in Bermuda, booking a flight for an unknown destination. It appears that he managed to fool everyone, including the S.T.A.R.S."  
  
"How can you call that excellent news?!" Spencer barked, before realizing what Trent's report really meant. "So, he faked the entire brain damage episode?" he asked, and received a nod in the affirmative. "That means the whole reason for ceasing to experiment with human-enhancing variations of our viruses is moot. Tell the Research Department to get cracking on this right away. I have a feeling that we'll need whatever monstrosities they can whip up before this is over. Now, what else do you have for me, Mr. Trent?" Spencer asked, his mood clearly much lighter than it had been a moment earlier.  
  
"Another priority target has been located, this time in Mexico. One of our colleagues in the Mexican national police force sent us these, after we asked for pictures of Americans arriving at the border with suspicious reasons for entering the country. Intel has given a ninety seven percent probability that this is Melissa Jones. I took the liberty of having a USF squad follow her, in case she leads us to any other renegades that we haven't been able to detect yet," he continued, as Spencer cracked a smile.  
  
"Excellent," he beamed. "But answer me this; how certain are we that Matt Ryan is leading the defense at the SOC facility in Canada?"  
  
"Almost positive. Our ground asset inside the facility sent us a feed from one of their internal cameras. Pending confirmation of the feed's authenticity, we have images of Ryan inside, commanding the defensive. Our source said that Williams was forcibly removed before the siege, in order to preserve at least part of the SOC's command staff. I understand why you asked, and I think I know what you have in mind. I would advise against it, my lord. This might actually push Ryan over the edge; not what you'd want to do if you want him to surrender the facility."  
  
"Ah, but Mr. Trent, I believe it will be exactly what we need. Have our men in Mexico move in on Ms. Jones. As soon as they have her secured, get me on the line with Xenia. If we can take that facility without losing any more valuable bioweapons, or expensive soldiers, I'll be satisfied. If not, well, they all knew they were expendable," Spencer replied, leaning back in his chair. Things were finally beginning to go his way against his sworn enemies.  
  
"Of course, my lord. We shall have Jones in custody within half an hour," Trent replied, before exiting the room. He immediately headed for his office to e-mail his contact in the S.T.A.R.S., knowing that it would take too long to get to a local internet café and make contact from there. If he wasn't able to reach them and warn them about Jones, the results would be catastrophic. He logged on to his computer, quickly typed up the e- mail, and sent it to the address he had memorized so many months ago, hoping that someone would receive it and be able to act on his warning.  
  
SOC Alpha Site  
September 20, 2001 9:53 PM  
  
"Paul, could you pass me that socket wrench, and hold this bolt with the pliers," Ken said, as Paul complied with his request. He placed the wrench over a loose bolt in the secondary satellite receiver, tightened it, then stepped back, to wipe the sweat off of his hands. Before Paul had come, he had been working on the backup satellite for around ten minutes, which included manhandling the receiver out of the auxiliary satellite uplink cradle, and hooking it up to the primary system.  
  
"Anything else you need?" Paul asked, as he did a quick visual scan of the dish. It seemed to be aligned properly, and the diagnostics they had run came up clean.  
  
"Let's give it a final test, and see if the S.T.A.R.S. are out there," Ken said; as he walked up to the laptop he had brought with him, in order to re-calibrate the receiver. He ran a feedback loop from the auxiliary transmitter they had already installed, and made sure that it returned to the receiver, properly encrypted and decrypted. "We're good to go. Matt, the back-up satellite transmitter and receiver are both hooked up and in synch. Anytime you want to call up the S.T.A.R.S., we'll be ready on this end."  
  
"Copy that Ken. You two better get back here, before our guests decide to try and invite themselves down here again," Matt replied, as he hooked up a handset receiver to the external communications system, and dialed in the S.T.A.R.S.' frequency.  
  
"This is Charlie Lima-2, calling Echo. Come in Echo," he said, using the pre-arranged call signs the S.T.A.R.S. and SOC had developed for emergency situations. He placed the handset down on a nearby console, and waited for a reply.  
  
"It's good to hear from you, Lima-2. After the fireworks display that took out our gate-crashers, we took advantage of the reprieve to grab whatever we could and bail. What's your current situation, over?" Chris Redfield asked in reply.  
  
"We're making a stand, to let you get clear," Matt replied solemnly. The line was silent for nearly a minute before Chris spoke again.  
  
"You don't have to do that. We have more than enough room to fit you all in with us, and still get somewhere safe before Umbrella can get reinforcements up. We're already in the air; I can have my people there in fifteen minutes," Chris replied.  
  
"Yes, we do. We have no idea how long it'll take for Umbrella to get more people up here, and if your helicopters get caught on the ground when they show up, it's game over for everyone. At least if we make a big enough distraction here, you'll have a shot at getting away cleanly. Right now, your only concern should be getting your people to safety while you still can. The more time you waste over us, the greater the chance either Spencer's goons, or Evans' people will find you. If that happens, then the largest force in the fight against Umbrella will be gone, along with those of us here in the Alpha Site. Don't let our sacrifice be in vain," Matt answered. On the other end of the line, Chris stared out across the Canadian landscape blurring by beneath his feet, realizing now that he was getting the equivalent of a message from beyond the grave.  
  
"It's been an honor and a pleasure," he finally said, before choking up with tears. Even though he had only known Ryan for around seven months, he greatly respected the man who was going to pay for their escape with his life, along with two dozen other volunteers. "We won't forget what you've done here, ever. Spencer is going to pay."  
  
"Good luck," Matt said, before closing the audio link. He had an idea of what emotions would be running through Chris right now, and he couldn't afford the distraction. An unknown number of Umbrella and U.S. troops were still in the facility, along with God only knew how many reinforcements en route. "I'm sorry that we're taking the easy way out," he added softly, knowing that no matter how badly things went in the Alpha Site, after this battle, the war would be over for everyone inside it. The survivors would face even harder times, fighting against Evans and Spencer with dwindling numbers, until no one would be left to challenge them. Matt looked up in a moment of clarity, knowing that in the end, Umbrella, with its superior resources, would simply bury the resistance in a wave of expendable troops and bioweapons.  
  
"Then again, in all honesty, there never was much hope for us. Roughly three hundred people against a huge international corporation, able to call on tens of thousands of loyal security forces, along with an ever- increasing number of nightmarish creatures. Nothing more than a fool's hope," he added.  
  
"Sometimes, when things are at their darkest, hope is the only thing that we have to hold on to. After everything you've been through, you should know that Matt," a voice said, coming from behind him.  
  
"You're right Paul. It's just, I mean, look what we have to deal with!" he said, raising his voice, even while it carried a tone of despair. "We've been outnumbered at least a hundred to one against a company that has shown it has access to nukes, and bioorganic weapons that can rival tanks. There's a fine line between hope, and foolishness, and in hindsight, I think we had a little too much of the latter, due to an excess of the former. I still don't understand why you decided to stay, Paul. It wouldn't have been a problem to have someone else trained up on the Spectres. You could've gotten clear, rallied the remnants of DefTek, maybe come up with something that would've helped the survivors carry on the fight."  
  
"In all honesty, there wouldn't have been I could've done to help if I had gotten out. Besides, I'm tired of running. First, SOC Headquarters, then the U.S., and then you expect me to run from here too? No, my friend. Whether or not all we have left is a fool's hope, it's still a hope nonetheless. Besides, let's just say that I have a feeling that my presence here will be beneficial," he replied, with a smile. "And if worst comes to worst, well, then I've made my peace. Let the chips fall where they will."  
  
"You're right Paul. I just can't get my mind off of everyone we're going to be leaving behind. Our families, the others, everyone in the U.S. who will live under Evans' tyranny because we weren't strong enough to stop him, and God knows how many others across the world that will suffer at the hands of Umbrella. I guess I'm just having a crisis of faith," he added sullenly, gazing sadly at his friend.  
  
"I can relate. But deep down, I have a feeling that things will work out in the end. You shouldn't be so ready to give up, crawl off into a corner, and die, Matt. I thought I knew you better than that," Paul answered.  
  
"I know. You're right Paul. Thanks a lot," Matt replied, smiling a bit. He still was feeling bad, but at least he was able to accept what was going to happen, and face it head-on.  
  
Mexico City, Mexico  
September 20, 2001 10:03 PM  
  
"Target sighted. Request confirmation of orders," one of the members of the Umbrella surveillance team spoke into a handheld radio, as he watched Melissa Jones across the street, through a pair of high-powered binoculars. The team leader was sitting in a beat-up white van that had been acquired from a local electric company's parking lot two days earlier. Having a van that was rusting and severely dented ensured that the van wouldn't stand out against the traffic on the street if someone was expecting to be followed by a vehicle. As he waited for a response, he watched as Jones looked over her shoulder, quickly searching for any obvious pursuers.  
  
"Someone's been teaching her counter-surveillance," another member of the team muttered as he adjusted a directional microphone, in case any conversations she had with anyone on the street would need to be recorded.  
  
"Not well enough or she would've noticed that we've been following her for the last seven blocks," the team leader replied, with a smile. 'They always think they're better than they actually are,' he added silently, as he shifted the van into gear.  
  
'There,' Melissa thought to herself, as she saw the van shift into gear and move forward roughly a block through a reflection in a store's front window, before stopping again. She had spotted the van five minutes earlier completely by chance, and knew that she was being followed. Instead of heading back towards the motel she was staying in, which she had been doing when she spotted the tail, she walked past it, hoping to give herself enough time to come up with a way to ditch them. She had considered ducking in to a store, and trying to get out through a side or back door, but knew there were probably more surveillance teams out there that she couldn't see. She stopped at a street corner, waiting for a gap in the traffic so she could cross the intersection, when she heard a diesel engine revving. She only had to glance backwards to see the van rapidly accelerating towards her, before deciding to just make a run for it. As she took off, she brushed her hand against the small of her back, making sure that the small Glock pistol she was carrying was still safely nestled into its holster.  
  
"She's on to us. We're moving in to make the pick-up," the team leader said, before cursing his misfortune. He thought he had shifted the van into drive before hitting the acceleration, only to realize that it was actually only in neutral. The sound of the revving engine had spooked his soon-to-be victim, who took off running. He hurriedly slammed the van into gear, and floored the accelerator, hoping to catch up with her before she was able to shake them.  
  
"Copy that. Call in when you have the target," his controller radioed back. They had an unmarked helicopter waiting to take her to a safe house, but that depended on securing the target in the first place. The van finally pulled even with her, and he cut the wheel sharply to the left, causing it to go up on to two wheels briefly, before slamming back down on the ground, in her path, and nearly taking out a pair of cars parked on the side of the road. The side door to the van rolled open, as a pair of men, armed with air tazers and MP5 submachine guns, jumped out. Jones stopped running, and pulled out a small concealed pistol. She fired twice, striking one of the men in the chest and neck, before the second man fired his tazer, connecting with the shot. Their target went down hard, the gun clattering further down the street. The team leader got out of the van, and helped to load first the target, then their casualty into the vehicle.  
  
"One man down. Mission accomplished," he spoke into the radio, as the remainder of his team, which at this point was the man with the microphone as well as the second member of the "grab" team, secured the prisoner. "We're en route to the rendezvous point."  
  
While this was occurring, a pair of observers in a pickup truck across the street looked on with great interest. After the van pulled out, the pick-up shifted into gear, and took up a pursuit position roughly a block and a half behind them. They followed the van through nearly half of the city, until it pulled into an underground parking garage at the city's Umbrella office. The pickup continued on past the building, as the passenger adjusted the mirror on the passenger-side door so that it was showing the roof of the building. A helicopter was circling overhead and preparing to land on the roof, as the passenger looked over to the driver, nodded, and pulled out a cell phone.  
  
"Umbrella has Melissa Jones, and is preparing to move her by helicopter. The helicopter is a civilian-model Sikorsky, tail number UBR- 4357. As soon as the helicopter is on the ground, flag the location and send out an alert," he said, before disconnecting the phone. The truck then sped up, heading out of the city, for a rendezvous of its own.  
  
Umbrella, Inc. Main Office  
September 20, 2001 10:09 PM  
  
"Lord Spencer, we've just received confirmation that the Mexico operation was successful. Jones is in custody, and en route to the safe house. They are expected to arrive in fifteen minutes. Loyal reinforcements are expected to arrive at the SOC Alpha Site in roughly half an hour, while questionably loyal forces are arriving even now," an aide said, as Spencer smiled.  
  
"Have our people hold off on the assault until the units loyal to myself and President Evans arrive. I don't want to send the questionably loyal units in to the facility, especially if they see our people using B.O.W.s against the SOC. That could be a disaster of unimaginable proportions. In the mean time, have the safe house establish a satellite uplink with the Alpha Site, and be prepared to upload simultaneously to our man in the facility and here. Make sure someone there has the ability to transmit video as well; I want to make sure Ryan suffers, and I want to see it happening live and in color," Spencer said, with a smile. The pieces were finally beginning to fall into place, as he stood and began pacing across his office, brimming over with nervous energy. His plans were finally about to come to fruition.  
  
"Of course, Lord Spencer. It will be as you asked," the aide replied, before ducking out of the office again.  
  
"I can't wait," Spencer added simply, psyching himself up to enjoy this, one of the first real victories he had scored against his enemies since assuming control of the company. "And soon, they won't be able to!"  
  
SOC Alpha Site  
September 20, 2001 10:53 PM  
  
"Pull back!" Matt screamed, as a swarm of bullets flew in both directions down the narrow corridor. Several minutes earlier, the Umbrella forces had resumed the offensive, after fresh troops had arrived. Zander had managed to plant a pair of fiber-optic cameras on the surface earlier, which allowed Matt to see first members of the Army Rangers, his old unit, and then more USF troops arrive. The Rangers milled around the perimeter, evacuating wounded, and not making any moves to enter the facility, while the USF troops headed right for the action. Matt guessed that Spencer didn't want them to enter, and see something incriminating, and switch sides during the fight.  
  
"Copy that," Greg yelled back, firing a long burst from his P-90 down the hall, emptying the clip, and forcing the USF troops to duck or die. The remaining seven men began pulling back as well. With four men out of action due to casualties, and needing to defend two entrances, Matt could feel his forces beginning to stretch dangerously thin. He tossed a smoke grenade down the corridor, further obscuring the Umbrella soldiers' vision, before jumping over a tripwire that was connected to a hastily-deployed Claymore mine.  
  
"Joe, is there anything over by the elevators yet?" he asked, his heart pounding as he slid into cover at the next chokepoint, waiting for the next round of Umbrella soldiers to come rushing.  
  
"No, not yet. Wait, I hear something in the elevator shafts," he began, as Matt heard a pair of loud explosions coming from the opposite end of the facility. "Matt, they must've found the second entrance. I've got two men down with shrapnel injuries, and USF troops pouring in down here. We have to pull back."  
  
"All right, booby-trap the weapons cache at your first choke point, and pull back to the second. Send the wounded to the casualty area, and try to hold them for as long as possible," Matt replied. That left him with two fewer men to fight off the Umbrella troops, along with the two already working in the makeshift hospital. He ran the numbers in his head, and frowned. "We're dropping like flies," he muttered, realizing that of the original twenty six people defending the facility, only eighteen were still in the fight.  
  
"Here they come again," Victor called, as he fired a burst from a Remington Auto Shotgun down the corridor, striking a man twice with the weapon's buckshot rounds, putting him down for the count. The return fire from the Umbrella troops was no less effective, however.  
  
"Augh!" Larry yelled, as he grabbed his leg. Two other men grabbed him, and began pulling him back towards the hospital, as Matt groaned in frustration. Another three men gone, two of them only temporarily as they pulled Larry out, but still badly needed on the line.  
  
"Paul? How many more strong points do we have left?" Matt asked, looking over at Westings, who was firing down the corridor with the last Archangel. He wondered how he managed to get that, until he realized Larry had been using the weapon until he went down.  
  
"Just two. If I were you, I'd start up that self-destruct," he yelled back, before ducking a rocket that screamed overhead. It detonated against a wall, showering them with debris, but not causing any casualties.  
  
"Cover me. I'm going to start the countdown," Matt said, as he emptied the 7.62mm clip from his F-1100 down the hallway, before running for the command center as fast as he could. Halfway there, he passed the hospital, and could hear the cries of pain from the men under his command who had been wounded, as well as watch the surgeon and his assistant working as hard as possible to ease their suffering. He kept running, until he reached the clear glass doors that opened into the command center, threw the doors open, and jogged up to the last desktop computer still active in the facility. He typed in his authorization, and activated the self- destruct. Realizing that they might be able to draw in a few more Umbrella soldiers, he set the timer to fifteen minutes, before running back towards the fighting.  
  
"Get the wounded into the command center," Matt called in to the makeshift hospital as he ran past. Even though they wouldn't be safe there, he needed them in the command center so he could concentrate his few remaining defenders for a last stand.  
  
"Greg, Joe, Paul, start pulling everybody back to the command center. We're going to make a stand there. The self-destruct is on," he added, as he finally arrived back with the others. Activating the self-destruct seemed to sober everyone up; their defense didn't seem like a game anymore, there was going to be no last-minute rescue or escape.  
  
"Copy that," they all replied, setting mines and booby-trapping weapons caches as they pulled back, hoping to slow down the Umbrella troops for as long as possible. Matt counted each person as they entered the Command Center, until, satisfied that everyone, including the casualties were in, he ran to an overturned table, and got behind it, using it as a shield.  
  
"At least they don't have any B.O.W.s left," Matt said with a smile, remembering how the Umbrella commander had first tried sending the surviving pair of Hunters down into the vehicle bay, where they had promptly set off several of the mines that had been placed.  
  
"Be thankful for the small things," Paul said. "How much time is left on the self-destruct?"  
  
"Six minutes, twenty seconds. Before the fighting starts up again, I'd like to say that it's been an honor fighting alongside all of you. I couldn't have asked for a better group of people to work, fight and die alongside. Thank you all for staying," Matt said, with a tear forming in the corner of his eye.  
  
"Incoming!" someone yelled, as the Umbrella troops finally began their final assault. Matt checked his ammo, saw that he still had five magazines left for the rifle along with two for the shotgun, and knew he would have more than enough to last until the self-destruct went off.  
  
"Ma'am, Lord Spencer is on the radio for you!" one of the USF soldiers yelled over the shooting, tossing a portable radio to Xenia. Their agent in the facility had wired them into the SOC's satellite receiver, allowing them to overcome the previous communications problems they had encountered earlier in the evening.  
  
"What?" she screamed into the receiver, knowing that even though she was yelling at the top of her lungs, the sheer volume of gunfire would block out most of what she was saying.  
  
"I believe we have a way to get Ryan to surrender the Alpha Site. One of the recent arrivals should have a laptop computer. I want you to take it, connect to the following website, and show it to Matt Ryan," she heard Spencer say, before he read off a series of numbers, representing an IP address for a website. She motioned hurriedly for the man to slide the laptop over, and typed in the address. The screen remained blank after she put the numbers in, before Spencer continued, "Call back when Ryan has the laptop, and we'll start the show. Do not fail me."  
  
"Everyone, hold your fire. If any of them attempt to shoot, drop them," she told the ranking USF member on the scene, before she brazenly stood, and began walking towards the Command Center's door. "Ryan!" she yelled, hoping he was alive, and able to hear her. "I've come to negotiate your surrender!"  
  
"Bite me!" was Matt's reply, as Greg prepared to toss a hand grenade through the door, at the person boldly challenging them.  
  
"I have a message for you, which Lord Andrew Spencer has asked me to personally deliver to you. I'm coming in under a flag of truce," Xenia replied, before stepping through the shattered glass doors, and walking into the Command Center. She glanced around, noting the locations of the defenders, in case she would have to assault the room to clear them out. She also noticed a number of wounded, sheltered in a back corner of the room. All of the defenders in the room, including her agent, had weapons leveled, in case she tried anything.  
  
"And what message might that be?" a voice asked, as a black-clad man stood up from behind an overturned table. Even though his face was shielded by a jet black visor, Xenia knew that the person standing before her was Matt Ryan.  
  
"I wasn't told the details," she replied, before motioning to the laptop. "Lord Spencer wanted me to let him know when you had it, so he could give the message to you." With that, she slowly took out her radio, and told Spencer what he had been waiting to hear, that Ryan had the laptop.  
  
"Excellent," was his reply, before continuing, "I finally get to see the man who has been such a thorn in my side, as of late. Mr. Ryan, I must say, it is a pleasure," Spencer said, as his image appeared suddenly on the laptop's screen. Matt scanned the laptop, and saw that a fiber-optic camera had been embedded into the keyboard, allowing whoever was on the other end of the line to see him.  
  
"I can't say the same for you, Spencer. If that's all that you had to tell me, then I think we're through," Matt said, as he began closing the laptop computer.  
  
"Oh no, that isn't all I have to show you. Please start the second data feed," Spencer said to someone off-screen. Matt watched as the display on the laptop suddenly split into two screens, the one on the left containing the image of Spencer, while the one on the right was just coming into focus.  
  
"My God," Matt said, as the picture finally cleared up, showing Melissa Jones tied to a chair and gagged, with a handful of Umbrella agents milling around her.  
  
"As you can see, Mr. Ryan, we have Ms. Jones. Now don't harbor any illusions that I will allow you to live whether you surrender or not, quite frankly, I won't. But if you give yourself up, Jones goes free, and you have my word that none of the other families of the people in your organization will be harmed," Spencer replied, with a victorious smirk.  
  
"Can I speak to her?" Matt asked, with a strong look of concern on his face. Meanwhile, as Xenia watched the drama unfolding, she began to feel ill. Yes, she was capable of being as cold-hearted as anyone else, and of dispatching her enemies without even a hint of remorse, but using non- combatants as leverage was something beneath even her standards. That her employer would steep to such despicable lows didn't surprise her, in fact, she had been expecting it. It still didn't make her feel any better about what was happening. Make no mistake, her orders were to take Ryan down, and she fully intended to accomplish that mission, but against a skilled foe, preferably in hand-to-hand combat, not against a man who had just been emotionally shattered, and would put up no resistance. She lived for the thrill of the hunt, and when her prey wasn't even willing to put up a fight, there was no point in going on.  
  
"Of course, where are my manners? You don't mind if we all listen in, do you? Personally, I find all of this drama to be incredibly entertaining," Spencer replied, his smirk growing. He made a signal to someone off-screen, which looked to Matt as if he were permitting his request to occur. He watched as one of the agents removed Melissa's gag, though none of them left the room.  
  
"Do I have a choice?" Matt asked, before continuing, "Melissa, I can't let them do this. I just hope that someday you can forgive me."  
  
"Matt, don't worry about me! Keep fighting them!" Melissa yelled, before the agent threw the gag back on her.  
  
"Now, now, Mr. Ryan. I am a very busy man. If I don't have your decision in the next twenty seconds, she dies," Spencer replied, losing the smirk, and adopting a serious expression.  
  
"Matt," Greg began hesitantly, "None of us can hold this against you. We'd do it too if we were in your position." Matt looked up upon hearing that, to see everyone in the Command Center, USF and SOC, looking at him.  
  
"We surrender," he said to the screen, as Spencer smiled. The SOC survivors all dropped their weapons with a wave from Matt, as the USF agents began to gather the arms together.  
  
"Excellent, excellent. Now, you may be thinking that it won't matter, that the self-destruct will kill you all anyway," he said, as Matt looked up in shock. "What, you didn't expect me to have not even tried to infiltrate a group opposed to me. I'll make this interesting; why don't you try to figure out who my agent was. And how he was able to disable your self-destruct. To make it really interesting, if you get it right on the first try, I'll let the survivors film good-byes for their families."  
  
Now that there was no longer gunfire echoing throughout the facility, and he wasn't distracted by Spencer, Matt could clearly hear a computerized voice announcing the pause of the self-destruct countdown. He was in a state of shock as he gazed at each member of the SOC in the room, not believing that it was possible for one of them to betray everyone. He looked each of them in the eyes, and stopped when he reached Paul Westings. The corners of Paul's mouth rose slightly, as he smiled.  
  
"Very good, Mr. Ryan. I wondered how long it would take you to figure it out. I'm sure that I dropped enough clues for you. DefTek selling weapons to the U.S. at below-wholesale prices, not making a profit on the sales but still managing to stay out of debt, my volunteering to stay behind when you yourself said that I could've left? How more obvious could I have been?"  
  
"So you've been working for Umbrella since the beginning," Matt replied, a wave of anger striking him. He felt like he had just been punched in the stomach; being betrayed by someone he had previously trusted with his life. "I guess you feel pretty good right about now."  
  
"You have no idea, Matt. No idea how much I've wanted to reveal where my true loyalties lie. No idea how easy it was to earn your trust, and feed information to my employers. You couldn't have made it easier if you tried," Paul said. He walked right up to Matt, and smiled in his face. "You should've known; the SOC would've never defeated Umbrella alone. To paraphrase what you said earlier, how could you have hoped to stand against a corporation capable of releasing biological weapons anywhere in the world, capable of toppling even the United States government? A corporation now in control of the strongest military force on the planet. You knew you had no chance of victory, and yet you still fought on. Well, this time, it seems your luck has run out. There won't be any last-minute rescue, no one rushing in to save you. You fought valiantly here, I'll give you that."  
  
"I can't believe it's you, of all people. John said we could trust you," Matt whispered.  
  
"And what makes you think he isn't playing games with you? If he was so willing to help you fight Umbrella, where is he now, in your hour of need? Why didn't their ship stay, and bomb Umbrella's reinforcements too?" Paul asked, as Matt frowned. He hadn't even known that the explosions on the surface two hours earlier were caused by John's people, let alone a warship. From the looks of the members of the USF, he could tell that they didn't either. "Even they have abandoned you here."  
  
"Traitor," Matt said simply, before spitting directly into Paul's face. Paul used his sleeve to wipe the liquid off of his face, before looking up and smiling.  
  
"Call me what you will. The point is, the SOC has been shattered. There won't be any resistance from them for quite some time," he replied.  
  
"I think that's enough, Mr. Westings," Spencer said from the laptop. Matt had forgotten all about it, and saw that Spencer was clearly enjoying himself. "Now, if you're through, secure the prisoners, and reset the self- destruct to give yourselves enough time to leave. Remember your orders. Oh, and Mr. Genson, please execute your prisoner," he added, before his half of the laptop shut off. On the side with Melissa, one of the Umbrella agents pulled out a silenced pistol, and pulled the slide back.  
  
"No!" Matt yelled, as he watched the man bring the barrel of the gun down in slow motion, before he heard someone on the other end yell something. The man with the gun paused, before a blinding flash destroyed the image on the screen. They heard several gunshots, along with numerous cries of pain. When the picture finally cleared, Matt saw Melissa, still in the chair, and unscathed. All of the Umbrella guards were down, some dead, the rest clearly on the way. As he watched, a pair of men clad in camouflage pants and vests, with body armor bulging beneath the vests, black ski masks, helmets and goggles stepped into view. One of them immediately went to work on the restraints holding Melissa to the chair, while the second picked up the camera. He looked directly into it, before throwing it to the ground and smashing it. Matt was silent for a moment, recognizing who he had just seen on the other end of the feed. 'John,' he thought, 'Thank you.'  
  
"All right, people, gather the prisoners, and get them to the surface. Leave the wounded for the self-destruct," Paul called, as the USF soldiers moved to comply. Paul pulled out his laptop, typed in whatever code he had used to pause the self-destruct, and reset it for fifteen minutes, giving them enough time to make it to the surface. As Matt was pushed out of the Command Center, he looked back to see Dan, still bleeding and in pain, stare up at him, his expression a mixture of pain, depression, and resignation to his fate. As Matt's guard pushed him forward, causing his head to snap forward, he saw something that caused a chill to run down his spine. Out of the corner of his eye, for less than a second, he saw something move. As he continued out of the facility, he ran through the image again and again, each time remembering what he saw with more detail. Something with the same general shape of a person, but almost completely transparent. Not only that, but whomever, or whatever it was appeared to be clad from head to toe in some sort of suit of armor. He didn't have any more time to reflect on what he saw, because he felt a burning sensation in his neck and out of the corner of his eye saw someone injecting him with something. He was unconscious before he could even begin to resist.  
  
Location Unknown  
September 21, 2001 12:14 AM  
  
"Mark, you'd better come see this," a voice called, as Ian slowly shook his head, his vision still fuzzy. He had only vague recollections of what had happened over the last few days, as he slowly sat up. His head throbbing, he looked around, taking in his surroundings. He saw someone walk past, as his sight finally came back into focus.  
  
"Paul?" he asked, as the Team 1 member turned upon hearing his name.  
  
"Sir, it's good to see you awake," he replied, with a smile.  
  
"How long have I been out?" Ian asked. Having established that he was safe, the next requirements that he needed to meet was where he was, and how long he had been out for.  
  
"It's the 21st of September," was Paul's reply. "And to answer your next question, we're in Guatemala."  
  
"What happened with Matt? Did Umbrella find them?" Ian asked, concerned with his second in command, and the volunteers who had stayed behind to buy them time to escape.  
  
"You'd better come and see this yourself, sir," was Paul's reply, as he offered his hand to Ian, helping him to his feet. They were in a hotel, Ian saw, and for Guatemala, it appeared to be a very good one. They walked into the main room, and saw Mark, along with Sam and the remainder of Team 2 sitting in various locations, watching the T.V.  
  
"Sir!" they all said, jumping to attention as soon as they saw Ian walk in. He saluted them, and motioned for them to sit back down. He saw that the television had been switched to CNN, and immediately felt the need to be sick, as he read the headline.  
  
"This is Donald Windsor; live from Canada, where we are awaiting a briefing from Major General Anthony Young, who has been leading efforts to capture the fugitives wanted for the terror attacks in Dallas, as well as Shoreline and Raccoon City. Ladies and gentlemen, General Young has just approached the podium," the reporter said, as his cameraman shifted the shot from him to the general addressing the press.  
  
"Good morning, everyone," he said, checking a wristwatch to make sure that it actually was morning. Dark rings were evident under his eyes, Ian saw, indicating that he hadn't gotten much sleep lately. "At approximately 2230 hours military time last night, 10:30 PM civilian, we accomplished a major objective in our hunt for those responsible for the biological weapons attacks in the U.S. Two camps, both confirmed to be occupied by the terrorists, were attacked, by elements of the U.S. Air Force, along with Army Rangers. Both of them were destroyed, one by a carpet bombing from U.S. B-52 bombers, and the second by a Ranger strike team. None, I repeat, none of the enemy forces at either location attempted to surrender, despite repeated opportunities. No prisoners were taken in either instance. Make no mistake; this was not a merciless execution. All of the terrorists who were killed were armed, and engaged our forces without provocation. U.S. losses were heavy, especially in the assault lead by the Rangers. It is estimated that nearly six hundred members of the assault teams at both locations were killed, including over two hundred chemical weapons specialists from the Umbrella Corporation who were called in to contain any possible releases of Weapons of Mass Destruction. The loss of so many good people is tragic, and my heart goes out to the families of those who won't be coming home. But their sacrifices were not in vain; those responsible for the worst acts of terrorism in U.S. history are now facing the only punishment that is fitting for them. Thank you, ladies and gentlemen," Young said, before Ian grabbed the remote, and shut off the T.V. He refused to hear good men, men he had personally asked to join the SOC, be talked about in that way.  
  
"Young isn't in on this; he doesn't know what Spencer is up to. I'm sure of it," Ian said, before sitting back down.  
  
"What's our next move going to be?" Sam asked, changing the subject.  
  
"For now, we get out of Guatemala as fast as possible. Spencer is going to have his people searching for us, and eventually they're going to figure out where we went," Ian said. "We need to be as far away from here as possible when that happens."  
  
"Right. One more thing; our people in Mexico City reported that they lost contact with Melissa Jones, Matt's fiancé. She missed a scheduled contact, and upon investigating, our people found out that someone matching her description was kidnapped, after a small gun fight," Sam replied.  
  
"There isn't anything that we can do for her," Ian answered. "They probably picked her up to use as leverage against Matt. If that's the case, then she's already dead." Everyone in the room looked down after that sentence, honoring her with a moment of silence. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. All of them scrambled for weapons, keeping them concealed but within reach, incase the worst happened. Once they were prepared, Mark opened the door to the room, peaking out to see who was there, since there was no peephole. He nearly collapsed in surprise. He hurriedly pulled the door open all the way, and pulled a very shaken Melissa Jones into the room, scanning around to see if anyone was watching her.  
  
"Dear God!" Ian exclaimed when he saw who it was. "How? What?" he asked, for once in his life dumbfounded.  
  
"I have no idea," she replied, still shaking slightly after her ordeal. "I was walking back to the motel where I was staying, when I saw that I was being followed. I tried to lose them, but they had a van, and managed to get ahead of me. I managed to shoot one of them; I don't think he survived, but before I could get the other one, he shot me with something, and I collapsed."  
  
"Sounds like an air tazer," Mark muttered, locking the door, and taking up a position by the room's sole window, scanning for any Umbrella forces.  
  
"Then what happened?" Ian asked, as he helped her sit down. He, as well as everyone else in the room, were in a state of shock upon seeing her.  
  
"When I came to, I was in a helicopter, with a half-dozen Umbrella Special Forces troops. The helicopter landed at a two-story building in the middle of nowhere, and the USF soldiers jumped off, taking me with them. I tried to escape then, but I was still too disoriented from the tazer to stand unassisted, let alone make a run for it. They dragged me inside, and tied me down to a chair and gagged me, before setting up a camera. They were talking about using me as leverage, trying to get Matt to surrender an Alpha Site, or something along those lines. I knew at the time that he was on the run, trying to fight Umbrella, so if they gave me the opportunity to speak, I was going to tell him to keep on fighting, and not to worry about me." She paused for a moment, composing herself, before continuing.  
  
"Finally, one of them set up a laptop computer, which showed a split- screen live feed from inside a huge room on one side, and Andrew Spencer, the head of the Umbrella Corporation, on the other. I saw someone dressed completely in black come into focus on the left, and after hearing his voice, knew it was Matt. He asked Spencer if he could speak to me, and the guards took off my gag. He, Matt I mean, asked if I could forgive him for what he was about to do. Getting my opportunity to speak, I told him not to worry about me, but to keep fighting Umbrella. After that outburst, the guards put the gag back on, and I saw Spencer and Matt go back and forth for a little bit. Spencer was bragging about a mole that he had inside the SOC, which I know would've nearly killed Matt, to be betrayed by someone he trusted. Then some man with graying hair came into the screen, and began talking to Matt, bragging about how many hints he had left, and that they never figured out he was passing on information about them to someone else," she said, as Mark muttered a curse.  
  
"Paul. Was his name Paul?" he asked. Melissa nodded, as the faces of everyone else in the room fell.  
  
"I thought I could trust Paul," Ian said, "I've known him for quite some time, and from what I saw, he unselfishly gave whatever he could to his country."  
  
"I don't know why he turned. After he and Matt spoke, Spencer ordered his people to kill me," Melissa replied.  
  
"They obviously didn't. What happened?" Ian asked, knowing that, depending on her answer, Umbrella troops could be kicking in the door to their room at any time.  
  
"I'm still not even sure. The guard who was going to shoot me, I don't remember his name, pulled out a pistol, and was starting to point it at me, before I heard someone yell something. I couldn't make out what they said, but whatever it was, the guard looked towards the door, which was suddenly kicked in. Something about the size of an orange bounced into the room, and emitted a huge flash. I heard several gunshots, along with someone crying out in pain. By the time my vision returned to the point that I was able to see clearly again, all of the Umbrella guards were down, either dead or on their way to it. Honestly, I didn't feel any sadness for them; they knew exactly who they were working for, and what Umbrella had done in the past. One of them was actually bragging about being involved with framing the Dallas S.T.A.R.S. Anyway, after I saw the guards were dead, they walked in."  
  
"They?" Ian asked, perplexed. Of all the likely scenarios that had flashed through his mind, a rescue was definitely not one of them.  
  
"I have no idea who they were; at the time, I thought they worked with Matt, since they knew who I was. One of them started cutting the rope that held me to the chair, while the second one picked up the camera, stared into it for a second, then threw it to the floor and smashed it. Once it was gone, he said, "Ms. Jones, I'm a friend of your fiancé's. You need to come with us right now." I didn't feel like I had much of a choice at the time, so I did," she said, as she finally stopped shaking.  
  
"When we got outside, I saw that the guards in the room with me weren't the only ones in the house. There were easily another half-dozen dead between where I was being held, and the front door. And the only warning those men had managed to get out was one yell, right before they hit the room," she said, amazement in her voice.  
  
"Melissa, do you remember anything about them? I'm going to tell you right now, we just found out a half-hour ago that you were missing," Mark said. "So no one connected to us was responsible for rescuing us."  
  
"The one who picked up the camera, the one who talked to me, he was around six feet tall, and had hazel eyes. That's all I could tell. He had a helmet, ski mask, body armor, and camouflaged pants and a vest on. You mean you don't know who they were?" she asked, surprised.  
  
"We'll have to check. In the mean time, did they say anything else to you?" Ian asked, already having an idea of who it was that saved her.  
  
"Yeah. We got outside, and there was a helicopter there. A few others dressed just like the one I told you about, showed up from somewhere else on the facility's grounds, and got on. While they were doing that, the one who spoke to me earlier said, "I need you to trust us, okay? We're going to take you south, to Guatemala. Some of Matt's friends are down there, so you'll be safe with them. When you arrive, I want you to give this to Ian Williams, okay?" And that's what happened. They dropped me off about a half- mile from here, told me the name of the hotel, and what room you were in. Here I am," she said, with a weak smile.  
  
"What did he give you to give to me?" Ian asked, having a feeling that whatever it was, it would be important.  
  
"This," she said, pulling out a carefully folded envelope from the front right pocket of her jeans. On the envelope itself was Ian's name, neatly printed, along with his former title from the CIA. He opened the envelope to reveal a letter, from a very familiar sender.  
  
"Assistant Director Williams," he read silently, "I'm going to be brief. Be at the following coordinates at the following dates and times. Be at the first location in force. Sincerely, J.D." He flipped the letter over, and saw that a pair of latitude and longitude coordinates had been written in, along with corresponding dates and times.  
  
"J.D.?" Mark asked, skimming over the letter after Ian handed it to him. "I've never heard of him before."  
  
"This intel is Holy Writ," Ian said, putting down the paper. Everyone in the room turned to look at him. In the Intelligence community, information that was regarded as Holy Writ was believed to be one hundred percent authentic, and actionable.  
  
"Are you sure? You're putting your trust in someone we've never met before," Mark added, still skeptical. After the incident with Paul, he was unwilling to trust anyone outside the SOC.  
  
"Absolutely sure. I think it's about time I tell you all the truth about how we managed to escape from Evan's death camp and start this rebellion. But before I do, Ms. Jones," Ian began, looking over to her, "You were formerly employed by the Umbrella Corporation as a researcher, correct?"  
  
"Yes, I was," she replied simply. After learning the truth about Umbrella, she hated to be reminded about her time spent working for the company.  
  
"If we're going to keep fighting them, we'll need people capable of studying whatever new bioorganic weapons and virus they come up with. In other words, would you be interested in a position in our R&D unit?" Ian asked, with a smile.  
  
"If it means I'll get the chance to help undo the damage Spencer and Evans have done, absolutely," she replied, finally beginning to cheer up.  
  
"Then, Ms. Jones, welcome to the Special Operations Command."  
  
Somewhere along the Afghanistan-Pakistan border  
September 23, 2001 1:31 PM  
  
Tom Walker twitched slightly as the hood covering his head was removed. 'I can't believe that, after everything we've done for these people, they're still being so paranoid with us,' he thought to himself, waiting for his vision to adjust from the darkness of the hood to the bright mid-day sun.  
  
"Allow me to apologize for the extreme security procedures that you experienced. Several months ago, U.S. forces were almost successful in an attempt to infiltrate our organization, and eliminate our leaders. We have since taken steps to ensure this doesn't happen again," a voice said in English. His accent would've convinced Tom that he was speaking to a native of England, except that he knew the speaker to be a native of Iran.  
  
"I understand perfectly. Our organization has also had security problems in the past, especially recently. Nothing that will threaten our continued partnership, of course, but a slight concern to my employer nonetheless. Experiencing failure now, when we are so close to success, would be a disaster," Tom replied, with a smile.  
  
"Too true, my friend. Unfortunately, your organization has been rather lax in holding up its end of the bargain as of late," the man replied, "The promised weapons have either been delayed, or, in the case of the incident in the facility your employer built for us in February, destroyed. My employer is not pleased. At your organization's insistence, we have delayed carrying out our attacks against the infidels for almost two weeks, but my employer's patience is beginning to run thin. Unless you come through on your end of the deal very soon, we may be forced to terminate our cooperation."  
  
"You needn't worry about our failure to follow through on our end of the deal. In fact, fulfilling that agreement was the reason I requested this meeting," Tom said, as he pointed at one of the guards observing the meeting. "Would he please retrieve the case that I brought with me?" The case, along with the contents of Tom's pockets, had been taken from him even before he was allowed to be transported to the meeting.  
  
"Of course," the man replied, before turning to the guard and speaking rapidly in Arabic. The guard returned a moment later with the case, and put it down on a small table that sat between them. Tom slowly opened the clips holding the case shut, before opening the lid and turning it so his customer could see the interior.  
  
"In the name of Allah, is this what I think it is?" he asked, his eyes widening as they gazed upon a dozen glowing vials.  
  
"Of course. The Umbrella Corporation always fulfills its agreements. Now you know why we asked you to delay your operations against the United States," Tom replied, with a smile.  
  
"But, as you said during our last meeting, is the President of the United States not loyal to your corporation?" the man asked, confused.  
  
"He is, but there are elements of the government that are not loyal to him. What we have given you is enough of the virus to completely infect a large city of your choice, in an airborne form. Our only conditions are that you do not deploy these against Washington D.C., and, that when your organization claims responsibility for the attacks, you mention that you received the virus from members of the S.T.A.R.S. You will say that the virus was meant to be a failsafe, in case their organization was attacked by the U.S. Government," Tom replied.  
  
"Of course, of course. Your actions have proven that you are a true friend to Allah, and to those who serve Him. You will always be welcome among Al Qaeda," the man replied, with a smile. He took the case, snapped the lid closed, and walked away from the meeting table with a contented smile on his face. After months of frustrations, the war of the faithful against the infidels was finally back on track. And how much the better that one of the infidels was willing to sell him weapons to help his people slay millions of them. He had not been kidding about his offer to Tom about being welcome in their organization; he truly believed that the man could be reconciled in the face of Allah, and brought into the ranks of the faithful. But first, he had an operation to re-write.  
  
And that's a wrap! Just when you thought that I couldn't procrastinate, or drag this chapter out any longer, it ends with a cliffhanger of sorts. We have Matt Ryan, God knows where, (well, I do too) the S.T.A.R.S. and SOC scattered to the four corners of the world, and Tom Walker supplying Al Qaeda with biological weapons (it shouldn't be too hard to figure out what virus he supplied, although here's a big hint. There's only one letter in the first word, and it's a T). What's going to happen in the next chapter, I'm sure you all want to know. Well, you're going to have to wait one more paragraph to find out.  
  
Before wrapping up this puppy (without checking, I think this has surpassed my longest chapter yet), I'd like to apologize for how long it's taken to write this. Between my continuing battle with my addiction to Counter-Strike, another battery of standardized and AP tests, and school in general, my writing time has evaporated very quickly. But I'm still working (albeit very slowly) to deliver the best possible chapter I can! And now for the part you've all been waiting months for, (come on, I'm sure none of you actually read the ten thousand plus words of the chapter; you just head right on down here) the Coming Attractions.  
  
Next Chapter: We draw closer (how much closer I'm keeping a carefully guarded secret) to the end of 2001, as the war between the supporters of Umbrella and the SOC/S.T.A.R.S. heats up again. We find out what fate awaits Matt Ryan, as well as to what the coordinates on John's (I think the J.D. part made it obvious, but if not, the sender of the letter to Ian was John Davis) letter referred to. As always, a bunch of other stuff (what, you think I'm going to ruin all of my surprises?) to keep any readers I have left semi-interested (even though I haven't gotten a review in God knows how long, I know at least Rhys D is still reading this) until the next chapter. Stay tuned for Operation: Falling S.T.A.R.S. Chapter Sixteen: While You Were Sleeping. 


	16. While You Were Sleeping

Disclaimer: The only things that I own are the things that I create for the benefit of enhancing this literary experience. Everything else that I use and don't own is owned by either Capcom, a wonderful reader who has submitted one or more characters, or whoever actually owns it. This story is mine.  
  
Author's Notes: Well, this is a first. I'm actually writing this before I've posted Chapter 15. Why, you might ask? Well, it's quite simple. This is one of the few times that I've been able to write, and I'm taking advantage of every minute of it. So that's why Chapter 16 is being started even while I'm in the process of posting 15.  
  
That's about all that I have for notes for the beginning of this chapter. Now on to the next stunning chapter of 'Operation: Falling S.T.A.R.S.'  
  
Operation: Falling S.T.A.R.S.  
  
Chapter Sixteen: While You Were Sleeping  
  
Location Unknown  
Date and time unknown  
  
The first conscious thought that came to his mind was the pain. Mind numbing in its intensity, he literally felt as though every inch of his body was on fire. He wanted to scream, to have some sort of release from the pain, but instead found that even attempting to move caused the burning feeling to increase in severity, giving him no respite from the agony. With nothing else to do but try to block out the pain, he let his mind go blank, hoping if not to release the pain, then to at least hide from it for awhile.  
  
He had no idea how long he stood like that, chained to a wall. He couldn't see anything at all; the room that he was in was pitch black. All he knew was that he was waiting, for what, he couldn't tell. For the pain to end, for more pain to come, all he knew was that he was waiting for something. As he stood there, no, not stood, more like was held up by the chains, he tried to remember anything that could help him out of his current situation. Nothing. He couldn't remember anything; not his name, any aspects of his past, or even what he had done to end up here. All he could do was wait for the inevitable. He was snapped out of his trance when the door to his cell began to squeak open, very slowly.  
  
"Well, Mr. Ryan, are you ready to talk to us?" a voice said, causing Matt's head to explode in agony. Having been restrained in the room for God knew how long in silence and darkness, the sudden light thrown into the room through the open door, along with the slightly-mocking voice, caused a sensory overload. He visibly recoiled from the assault that was being inflicted on him.  
  
"What's wrong?" the voice called again, causing Matt to recoil again, in spite of the pain moving inflicted. "Oh, I see. The light and sound must be painful, since you've been in here for so long. Well," the voice continued, "too bad." After that statement, overhead lights flickered to life, bathing the whole room in light. Matt closed his eyes, hoping to at least shield them from the pain. Suddenly, he felt his head be lifted up, and his eyelids forced open.  
  
"I prefer to have someone look at me when I talk to them," the person in front of him said. Matt's vision slowly returned, clearing to reveal a woman standing before him.  
  
"Xenia," he barely managed to say, sounding more like a groan than an actual name.  
  
"Yes, Matt, it's me. You sound almost surprised to see me," she replied, with a small smile across her face.  
  
"Why don't you just kill me? I can't have any information Umbrella can still use," he replied, resigned to his fate.  
  
"Because, my employers don't want information. They want me to break you. But," she paused, before continuing, "I've been given a little bit of latitude with my orders. We know that you're aware of the locations of the SOC safe houses. While I may be sure that Ian Williams wouldn't be stupid enough to use them, well, the S.T.A.R.S. might not be so intelligent. So, if you give me their locations," she said, before pulling out a small, silenced pistol, "It ends here. I'll give you some time to think about my offer, but don't take too long. After all, it would be a shame for Spencer to decide he'd rather use you in a new B.O.W. program."  
  
With that, the overhead lights snapped off, and Xenia left the room, pulling the cell door closed behind her. Matt stood there, hanging off of the wall, pondering what to do. It seemed so simple; just accept Xenia's deal and the pain would end. There would be no more burning, no more torture. Just a muzzle flash, and it would all be over.  
  
"You know that it would never be that simple," another voice said, reaching out from the darkness. Matt looked up in the direction the voice came from, a look of submission on his face.  
  
"I know Xenia. She'll keep her word," Matt replied, sullen. At this point, all he wanted was for it all to end. Umbrella, the fighting, the pain and suffering, everything.  
  
"What you don't know is that this cell has been under surveillance since they brought you here. Spencer has heard and seen everything Xenia told you. In fact, that bit about being used as a B.O.W. test subject was his idea. Besides, you of all people should know that nothing in life is that easy. Face it, my friend, there isn't going to be an easy way out of this," the voice replied.  
  
"Then won't Spencer see and hear you if this room is being monitored. I'm sure they have night vision filters on the cameras, since this room has been dark since I got here," Matt replied. "Spencer's people must be on the way, John."  
  
"Frequency scrambler," he said. Matt was sure he must've been holding up some sort of device, as he continued, "Jams the feeds from the cameras and microphones, and transmits a pre-recorded video and audio track. Right now, the guards think you're sleeping or that you passed out. We have a few minutes."  
  
"If Xenia isn't going to kill me, you could. Like you said, it doesn't matter if I tell her what she wants or not, it still isn't going to end," Matt replied.  
  
"It isn't that simple, Matt. Instead of killing you, I could just as easily get you out of here. Along with the others," he answered.  
  
"The others are still alive?" Matt asked, encouraged.  
  
"Spencer wanted to break you first, and then go to work on them. So yes, for the time being, they are still alive," John said.  
  
"So why don't you get us out of here. What purpose is fulfilled by having us suffer and die here!" he yelled, both at John and at his fate.  
  
"You have no idea, do you? You really haven't been able to figure it out?" John asked, more than a little surprised. "Come on Matt, I gave you more credit than that. Think about it; how we were able to change the outcome of Shoreline, but didn't act to prevent the outbreak itself, why we saved Melissa instead of bailing you guys out at the Alpha Site, you must've at least thought it was strange."  
  
"John, don't play games with me," Matt said, depressed rather than angry. "No, I never thought about that. I was too busy fighting Umbrella, trying to stop them."  
  
"It's all right, no one else thought about it either. The reason we've done all of those things is simple: fate. Shoreline was fated to be destroyed, the Alpha Site was fated to fall, and you, you were fated to become a prisoner of Umbrella," John replied.  
  
"So what, the outcome for this war has already been written?" Matt asked, more than a little confused.  
  
"No, no that isn't what I meant. You see, you missed my point. All of those things happened, but not in a literal sense. Think about it; the city of Shoreline was destroyed, but what is a city? Just a name and a collection of buildings. It's the people that make up a city that matter, and you saved hundred of them. They are alive, so therefore Shoreline will live on, in the hearts of those people. Just like Raccoon will live on in the hearts of the survivors of that disaster, and the same with Dallas," John replied.  
  
"I think I get it now. So fate can be manipulated, and sometimes changed outright. I still don't understand why you can't bust us out of here. We can't be fated to die here," Matt said.  
  
"There's a bigger picture to think about, Matt. I wish I could get you all out of here; there's nothing that I would like more. But for every action we take, there are consequences. It's just like in physics; for every action we take, there's an equal and opposite reaction. For example, let's say I decided to bust you out of here, right now. I just knock the door off its hinges, free everyone, and we all just stroll out the front gate. Unfortunately, by doing that, a number of Umbrella's best soldiers will be left alive. They will be removed from guard duty here, and used in operations against the SOC survivors and S.T.A.R.S. By staying here, you're tying down almost two hundred of Spencer's best people, when he needs every man he can get to find his enemies," John answered.  
  
"Why don't you just kill them, then. Kill all of them, and there won't be a problem," Matt said.  
  
"That's where you'd be wrong. You see, this is where the big picture comes in. By busting you out of here and killing all of the guards, I will rile Spencer up. After losing so many of his best people, and having his captives simply walk out of his most-secure prison, he's going to flip out. And when, in three weeks, he gets confirmation that a half dozen SOC support personnel have been spotted in London, well, he isn't going try sending in the USF to capture or kill them. He's going to go right for the viral option. So you see? By busting you out of here, there are far- reaching consequences. That's why you have to stay here, and why you have to say no to Xenia," John said. He stood silently, waiting for Matt to reply.  
  
"I understand," he finally said. "Every time you intervene, you have to consider what the consequences of your actions are. I'm guessing that when you act there are sometimes benefits, instead of cities being destroyed, or else you wouldn't still be here."  
  
"Now you're getting the hang of it. Every time we do something, or consider doing something, we have to go over the outcome very carefully. For example, my arrival here with ground troops, along with armor and air support, means that my Marine division is operating short-handed for awhile. Since we were pulled off the line for R&R though, it doesn't really matter. But all the same, if my unit is called up in my absence, a significant portion of their firepower will be missing. Luckily for you, that cost isn't nearly as large as not having forces here would be. All right Matt, you'd better get ready. Xenia is on her way back. I have to go, but before I do, I want you to remember this; no matter what, there is always hope, and fate isn't binding. Good luck, my friend," John concluded. The room was silent again for a few seconds, before the door opened again, this time quickly, and the lights flicked on.  
  
"Well Matt, have you made your decision?" Xenia asked. Matt noticed that she still had the pistol with her, and strongly considered discarding John's advice. The pain still lingered, and he had no wish to go back to that state. But somewhere, deep down inside, a voice told him to hold out, to fight Umbrella to the end.  
  
"You can take your deal, and stick it," Matt replied. Xenia nodded, as if conceding that even if he would have accepted, the deal would have been off.  
  
"Very well, Mr. Ryan. Your loyalty to your comrades is commendable, but need I remind you that they are still free, while you are our prisoner," she replied, as Matt smiled on the inside. He had gotten her to reveal that his friends were still on the run. He would be able to hold on to that fact the next time they tortured him for information.  
  
"The answer is still no, Xenia," Matt replied, struggling to stand upright and look her dead in the eyes.  
  
"They have abandoned you. They haven't even tried to find out your location, or attempt a rescue. And yet you still remain loyal to them, to the last. I must say that I am impressed, Mr. Ryan. I fear that I may never be able to understand what drives you; how you can stand there and willingly condemn yourself to torture and suffering even while salvation is at hand. Very well, Matt, if that is your final decision and there is nothing that I can do to change your mind, then so be it. Guards," she called, as six heavily armed men walked into the room, "You have your orders." Xenia turned to leave the room, as the guards approached, pulling out tazers and batons. The last sounds she heard were Matt's screams as his suffering began anew.  
  
"I'll ask you again Mr. Ryan, where are your safe houses?" the voice of his torturer asked, for the fifth time. The only problem was that he hadn't let up with the torture, preventing Matt from replying, even if he wanted to. It was clear to Matt that they didn't want any information from him anymore.  
  
Matt screamed in pain, as another wave of electricity rippled through his body. He lost track of how many different injections, beatings and electric shocks he had received. He still had no indication as to the passing of time; for all he knew he had been there for only a week, although it felt more like a year. Suddenly, the torture stopped, as a new person walked into the room.  
  
"Well, Mr. Ryan, we finally meet," came a slightly sneering voice, as the person pulled up a chair, and sat down across from Matt.  
  
"Just seeing you sit there gives me all the proof I need to conclude that God doesn't exist," Matt replied bitterly, staring into the face of Andrew Spencer.  
  
"I'm sorry to hear you say that. I have always tried to remain devout myself, looking to the Divine for guidance from time to time," he replied, before smiling. "But where are my manners? You've been my guest for so long, and I haven't even had the decency to offer you anything to drink. We have plenty of wine, or if you'd prefer something stronger, whiskey," Spencer said, as someone handed him a bottle and two glasses. He poured a shot for himself, and one for Matt, before handing him the glass.  
  
"To your health," he said, before downing the shot. Matt sat there and looked at the glass, wondering if it was drugged. He decided that it didn't matter anymore, and drank the liquid. Immediately he started gagging, as it burned his already-dry throat.  
  
"Oh my, I forgot that you're severely dehydrated. That must've hurt," Spencer said, wincing in pain. Matt wasn't fooled by his acting.  
  
"What do you want?" he asked bluntly.  
  
"Ah, a man who wants to get right to the point. I like that. It's a shame that we didn't meet under better circumstances. We're quite alike, you and I. Before you interrupt me with a foolish attempt at heroics, allow me to explain. We both know what we want from the world, and are willing to fight to get it. It's only through some ironic twist of fate that we are fighting against each other, rather than with each other. Anyway, allow me to get to the heart of the matter. Frankly, I am starting to tire of your games," Spencer said, leaning forward until his face was inches away from Matt's. "You know what I want, and what I'm willing to do to get it. You have nothing to gain by resisting me."  
  
"And nothing to lose by fighting on. If that was all you wanted to tell me, then I think we're through here," Matt replied.  
  
"So be it. At least no one can say that I'm not a reasonable man," Spencer said, before standing. "My, Mr. Ryan, those cuts sure do look nasty," he added, pretending to notice for the first time that Matt had several open, bleeding wounds on his face and arms. "We wouldn't want you to catch cold, would we? I'll have someone bandage those up for you. But first, I think they need to be disinfected," he continued, before pouring out the bottle of whiskey over Matt. He screamed in pain as the alcohol ran down into his wounds, and thrashed in the chair he was restrained to.  
  
"You see? There is no one here to help you. There is no 'Alliance,' no S.T.A.R.S.; even your friends in the SOC have abandoned you. Not to mention the fugitives from the former U.S. government. Oh, they've tried calling in favors, tried to get the military to revolt. And I regret to say that they were slightly successful; a handful of units did answer their call. Unfortunately for President Bush, well, it's hard to get from Afghanistan to the U.S. without transportation," Spencer said.  
  
"What do you mean?" Matt choked out, as the pain from the alcohol bath subsided.  
  
"President Evans decided, or rather we decided for him, that any units professing even the slightest loyalty to Bush would be deployed overseas. Of course, we couldn't have them coming back, so we ensured that their transport aircraft were "suddenly recalled" to the U.S. Unfortunately, roughly sixty percent of the active duty military has remained silent on the matter, so we've had a hard time predicting who would go over to Bush, or stay with us. Luckily, once we finish rounding up the last remnants of resistance, it won't matter," Spencer explained, with a smile.  
  
"Finished?" Matt asked.  
  
"Yes, my dear enemy. You missed quite a few eventful weeks. I know Xenia told you we didn't have any of your friends other than the survivors of the Alpha Site, but in the three weeks since then, well, the situation has changed. Bring them in," he called.  
  
"No," was all that Matt could mutter as he looked up. The guards half- carried and half-dragged in several of the renegade S.T.A.R.S., all of them looking the worse for wear.  
  
"Matt, don't tell them anything," Chris Redfield said, looking directly into Matt's eyes.  
  
"Mr. Ryan, either you tell me where your safe houses are, or Mr. Redfield here is introduced to the business end of a .45 caliber bullet. You have ten seconds," Spencer said, as one of the guards pulled out a pistol and pointed it at Chris's head.  
  
"I can't," was all Matt could say in reply, before looking away. Spencer nodded at the guard, who pulled the slide back on his pistol.  
  
"Last chance," Spencer said. Matt didn't reply, so he again nodded at the guard. A bullet exploded out of the chamber of his pistol, striking Chris right in the forehead. He fell backward and lay on the ground, twitching slightly, as the guard moved to the next prisoner.  
  
"Now I'm sure Mr. Burton here wouldn't appreciate having his skull ventilated. After all, you two were in Shoreline together, so your bond should be stronger. You wouldn't let him die too, would you?" Spencer asked, as he was still greeted with silence. Burton stood defiantly, awaiting his fate, as Spencer gave the infamous nod. Seconds later, he too was lying on the floor, dead.  
  
"Why don't I leave you alone here with them for a little bit, to see if you won't change your mind. Guards, take the rest of the prisoners to their cells, but leave the corpses. I want Mr. Ryan to see what his defiance has earned him," Spencer said, before leaving the room. The guards and remaining S.T.A.R.S. quickly followed, as Matt finally looked up.  
  
"Why did this have to happen," he said out loud. "It really is over."  
  
"We have him. He's fallen for it completely," Spencer said, looking into the room with a smile.  
  
"He may yet figure it out, my Lord," an aide replied, before going back to monitoring the complicated computer equipment.  
  
"I've been assured that this device is foolproof. It's supposed to be indistinguishable from the real world," Spencer replied, watching Matt have his internal struggle on a computer monitor. He looked up from the monitor to see what Matt's actual surroundings were, and smiled. He walked over to an observation window, and looked down into a large tank of water, where Matt was currently suspended. He was wearing a thick, black wetsuit, with a large helmet strapped to his head. Tubes ran from the helmet up into the ceiling, along with several insulated power cords.  
  
"Sir, I know sensory-deprivation is generally foolproof. It's the virtual reality aspect of the program that has me worried. If there is even one slight glitch in the program, all of our work will be ruined. He'll reject the program, and our last chance of getting the locations of the SOC safe houses will be ruined," the aide replied.  
  
"Well then, we'll just have to move on to plan B, won't we. In the off chance that Ryan is able to break out of the virtual reality program, inform Mr. Baker that his device will get its shot. After all, as my virtual equivalent so eloquently put it, only fate kept Mr. Ryan and I from working together. I intend to prove, with the help of Baker's invention, that fate can be deleted, just like memories." With that, Spencer smiled at his own pun.  
  
"Sir, do you think it to be wise to attempt to erase his memories, and then just let him go?" the aide asked.  
  
"He is one of the best soldiers the U.S. has ever had. Imagine what it would be like having him fighting for us instead of against us. Besides, I have a plan for what to do with him. Let's just say that he's going to become an agent for transmitting the very thing he fought so hard against," Spencer said with a laugh, before leaving both the monitoring room, and a prisoner still struggling with his conscience.  
  
"Well, Mr. Ryan, time's up. Are you going to help me, or are more of the S.T.A.R.S. going to have to die?" Spencer asked. Matt looked up, glancing again at the corpses of Barry Burton and Chris Redfield.  
  
"You're going to kill them anyway, so what's the point," Matt replied sadly. Spencer smiled, as though he could sense Matt's resolve wavering.  
  
"The point is, this situation needs to be resolved," a new voice said, as Matt looked over to the room's door. He was stunned when he saw John walk in, smiling, and stand next to Spencer.  
  
"John? I don't believe it," Matt said, in shock that his friend could be standing next to his worst enemy.  
  
"Why do you really think the Alliance would bother intervening here? I'll tell you why, to sweep this under the carpet as quickly as possible," Spencer replied. "You see, John and I have spent a great deal of time talking, and have come to an agreement. I think I'll let him explain," Spencer continued, before motioning for John to speak.  
  
"Oh, this is too good," Spencer said, watching the drama unfold on the monitor in front of him. "How did we manage to get the alien's voice simulated, anyway?"  
  
"When we sent our people in to 'negotiate' with the Canadian Prime Minister, we seized a tape of Bush's last press conference, that had an introduction from John. From there, it was simply a matter of breaking down what he said, and extrapolating his pronunciations of each letter of the alphabet. We just programmed that in, and let the simulation take care of the rest," another aide replied, as he carefully monitored the program, to ensure there were no glitches.  
  
"Excellent. He'll have to break after this. The shock of seeing the S.T.A.R.S. being executed, and then being betrayed by his friend will be too much for him. There's no way he can continue to resist," Spencer said, before turning back to the monitor.  
  
"So you see, Matt? We never cared about the SOC, S.T.A.R.S., or Umbrella even," John said, before looking over to Spencer. "We just couldn't allow news of the return of the T- and G- series of viruses to the galaxy to spread. After having lost so much because of them, it would have been disastrous for the news to get out that our government approved giving a sample of the original virus, along with the equivalent of decades of research, to another planet."  
  
"So everything you did here was to save face," Matt replied. Everything that Spencer wanted was coming true; Matt was finally reaching the end of his resistance. "Your people were trying to protect their reputations this whole time, even while you were propping us up, and saying that you wanted to help us fight Umbrella. Everything you did was to help gain our trust. Why, John?"  
  
"By the way, who encoded this section? I mean, coming up with that whole bit about the Alliance supplying the original virus, and all of that research, was simply amazing. Even I almost bought it, before I realized that it wasn't true," Spencer said.  
  
"I believe Mr. Westings came up with the idea. He wouldn't say how he came up with it, but right now, I don't really care. Look at Ryan's vitals; this is the closest to breaking he's ever been," one of the monitoring aides said.  
  
"Excellent. Just a few more minutes, and we'll have him," Spencer said, with a smile.  
  
"Why, you ask? Why give your people the virus and so much data on it, and then pretend to help you in the fight against it? It's simple. Because we could. We decided to play God with a lesser species, except it backfired on us. And now, thanks to all the fighting that's going on, we have to step in and clean up this mess, before word gets out," John replied.  
  
"How will it get out?" Matt asked.  
  
"Radio, TV, any sort of transmitting device. Our people may not find out tomorrow, or the day after, but some day, radio waves carrying the news of the destruction of Raccoon, and of 'Cannibal Viruses' will get out. And when that happens, we're done for on the galactic political stage," John replied.  
  
"So that's it, then. The leadership of the S.T.A.R.S. is gone, the U.S. military can't do anything to fight back, the SOC has been scattered, and even the Earth Alliance has turned against us. It really is all over," Matt said, stunned. Despite everything he hoped for, this was it.  
  
"Why don't you just give us the locations, and we can wrap this up," Spencer said, before sitting down again. "Then no more cities will have to be destroyed, and life can go back to normal. What do you say?"  
  
Matt looked at him, and bowed his head. "The safe houses are scattered all over the world," he began, looking up again. "The first is in," he continued, before looking at Spencer's face. He paused, as he saw it twitching rapidly.  
  
"Go on, Mr. Ryan," he said, as if nothing had happened. Matt didn't, however, instead watching as the twitching spread, until Spencer appeared to be convulsing violently. "We don't have all day," he said, still acting as if nothing was wrong.  
  
"What's going on!" Spencer yelled, as he watched the program beginning to crash.  
  
"I don't know, sir. Somehow, part of the program was corrupted. I'm trying to fix it as fast as I can," the aide monitoring the program said.  
  
"Sir, Ryan knows something's up. His vitals are changing again; he's starting to resist the program," the aide monitoring Matt's condition added.  
  
"Get him back, or else," was all Spencer could say, before storming out of the room.  
  
"For the last time, Mr. Ryan, tell me where the safe houses are!" Spencer screamed. The effect was lost on Matt, as he watched the scene unfolding in front of him. Spencer had continued convulsing, which had been followed promptly by several of the people in the room either rising off of the floor, or falling down so their legs were actually dangling through it.  
  
"Funny, I always thought that I looked better than that," a voice from behind him said, as Matt felt his restraints loosen. He turned, and saw John standing there. He gestured towards his apparent clone, and smiled. "And I generally prefer to keep both of my feet planted firmly on the ground, not six inches into it." Noticing Matt's confused, almost glazed-over look, he explained what was going on.  
  
"You, my friend, are currently submerged in a sensory-deprivation tank, hooked up to a virtual reality simulator. A very good one, in fact. It took Xavier almost twenty seconds to hack in and crash it." Anticipating Matt's next question, he went on, "Xavier is the source of the computer problems that have been plaguing Spencer and Evans for the last few months. He's a dual-purpose Marine combat AI, capable of either operating the computer systems on an Alliance military ship, or covertly infiltrating information networks. You see, we've been at least planning an anti- Umbrella operation for quite some time."  
  
"But how can you be here? This isn't even real," Matt replied.  
  
"In a way, it actually is. This VR system works by stimulating a person's brain, making them believe they are really feeling, seeing, and generally experiencing whatever occurs here. So that means that the frequency can be piggy-backed and certain Alliance Marines can make guest appearances," John replied, laughing slightly. "Now listen, because I really don't have too much time here. Spencer's people are going to fully lose control over this simulation in a few minutes, and I'm going to need as much of it as possible."  
  
"To do what? John, what's going to happen?" Matt asked.  
  
"Spencer has a second machine ready, and this is one that we can't hack into. It's designed to wipe minds. I don't have the time to go into the exact science behind it, but basically the device disrupts neural pathways, creating a sort of artificial amnesia. The effect is targeted to certain areas of the brain, so, for example, memories are erased, but military training and the like remain. And buddy, you're going to be the first test subject," John answered, before looking off to his side and muttering something indecipherable. "Those guys up there are good. We're going to really have to hustle."  
  
"What are you going to do?" Matt asked.  
  
"You know how the average human uses only a small percentage of their brain, right?" John asked, as Matt nodded. "Basically, what I'm going to do is make a complete copy of, well, you. Everything that makes you who you are, your personality, memories, all of it. I'm then going to bury that copy so far in your mind that Spencer and his people are never going to find it."  
  
"There's a catch, isn't there," Matt said, knowing the answer already.  
  
"It's going to hurt. A lot," was all John said in return.  
  
"Do it," Matt replied. He had already lost too much because of the actions of Spencer and Umbrella; he wasn't willing to lose his identity too.  
  
"Good man. I would've said and done the same thing in your position. You might want to sit back down, and brace yourself. Here we go," John said, before closing his eyes. Almost immediately, Matt felt a pounding sensation erupt in his head, which only seemed to get worse. He gripped the sides of the chair as tightly as possible, using the wood and metal as an outlet for his pain. He finally lifted his head and screamed, directly into a jet black helmet. He began thrashing around, feeling the pain subside, only to be replaced with a feeling of being trapped. Matt had never been claustrophobic, but he was sure whatever he was experiencing at that time would've passed as such. Suddenly, he felt hands grabbing him, and lifting him out of what he guessed was the water tank. The helmet was lifted off of his head, forcing Matt to shut his eyes to protect them from the room's harsh lighting. Before he could re-open them, one of the Umbrella guards jabbed him with a syringe, causing him to black out without ever seeing his aquatic prison.  
  
"So, as I was saying, you shouldn't have any problems infiltrating the S.T.A.R.S. base, and eliminating their top leadership," a voice said, jarring him back to consciousness.  
  
"Do I know you?" Matt asked, staring at the person sitting across from him.  
  
"Of course you do, Mr. Ryan. How could you forget me, your own boss, Lord Andrew Spencer?" he replied, surprised.  
  
"I don't know. Now that I think of it, I can't really remember much of anything," Matt said, shaking his head, as though to clear it.  
  
"Well, that must be a short-term side effect from your surgery," Spencer replied, dismissing Matt's concerns.  
  
"Surgery?" he asked, confused. He was sure he would've remembered something that important.  
  
"You really don't remember, do you? You were on an infiltration mission to one of our enemy's, the Special Operations Command, military facilities. Your cover was blown, and they ambushed your vehicle before you could even enter the facility. An Umbrella Special Forces team was barely able to hold them off long enough to evacuate you. When they brought you in, you were a mess," he said, sliding several pictures across the table to Matt. Matt scanned the pictures, seeing someone who looked vaguely like himself, battered and bloody, being wheeled into an operating room.  
  
"You're a very lucky man, Matt," Spencer continued. "We were able to put you back together, and now you're good as new. But that's all in the past. What I need to know is, whether you can handle your mission, or whether I need to find someone else to handle it?"  
  
"You're sure that my cover will be airtight this time?" Matt asked, as Spencer smiled.  
  
"Absolutely positive. Now let's go over your objectives one last time. We've received word that several high-ranking SOC and S.T.A.R.S. leaders have gathered in southern Idaho. Your mission is to infiltrate the meeting, confirm that high-ranking members of the rebellious factions are present, and terminate them. You'll be infiltrating the camp on the 17th of November, covered as a high-ranking member of the fugitive Special Operations Command. We secured the identification from the man's corpse, and gave you cosmetic surgery, to match his appearance," he continued. He slid a small mirror across the table, and Matt saw that, indeed, he looked different than he did before his surgery. In fact, he looked almost identical to the person whose identity he was using.  
  
"Could you give me the rundown of who we're expecting to be at the meeting again?" Matt asked.  
  
"Yes, Mr. Ryan, I will. We believe that the remnants of the renegade S.T.A.R.S., along with the SOC survivors, will be present, potentially along with sympathetic members of the U.S. military, who have been sheltering them. We cannot allow these traitors to continue murdering innocent civilians, and inciting revolts inside the United States. One last thing before you go; we managed to secure several vials of the T-virus from a terrorist base in Canada. Feel free to use our enemies' own weapons against them," Spencer said, before standing. "Make me proud, Mr. Ryan. Dismissed."  
  
With that, Matt started going through the folder containing his mission briefing, committing important details, such as maps and primary targets, to memory. 'Ian Williams, Melissa Jones, Chris Redfield,' he thought to himself, memorizing each of their faces in preparation for the operation. 'Soon the only problems you'll be causing are how to dispose of your corpses.'  
  
S.T.A.R.S. Secure Facility  
Southern Idaho, United States  
November 17, 2001 5:15 PM  
  
"You're sure that this is the location?" Mark whispered. Ian looked over, with a frown on his face.  
  
"GPS confirmed it. Whatever's going down is happening here, in ten minutes," Ian continued, after checking his watch. They were actually waiting outside the facility, along with Melissa Jones, who insisted on being present, unsure of what was going to be happening there. Even after Ian revealed who was responsible for sending him the information, and everything the Alliance had done for them, Mark was still skeptical.  
  
"I've just got a bad feeling about this," Mark muttered, before turning back to his high-powered binoculars. He was scanning the road leading up to the facility, in case Umbrella tried to launch a ground assault. Hidden along the sides of the road were several mixed teams of S.T.A.R.S., SOC and sympathetic members of the U.S. military, armed with heavy machine guns and rocket launchers. If any attack was launched down the road, there would be a very nasty surprise waiting for the Umbrella forces.  
  
"I know what you mean," Ian replied. He pulled a portable radio out of the car he was leaning against, and hit the talk button. "This is Eagle Five-One, calling Victor Two-Six. All perimeter outposts, report in."  
  
"This is Echo Two-Niner, nothing in grid five," a voice called back.  
  
"Echo Two-Eight, nothing along the southern perimeter," a second voice reported.  
  
"This is Echo Two-Seven, no contact along the main road. Wait one, unidentified vehicle sighted. Black SUV, appears to be alone. Windows are tinted, switching to thermal to get a passenger count," the man commanding the outpost said. He picked up a set of thermal goggles, clicked them on, and settled them over the SUV. "Only a driver. Something's fishy."  
  
"Copy that Echo Two-Seven. Are there any identifying marks on the SUV?" Ian asked next, as Mark began to ready his F-1100, just in case.  
  
"The vehicle is approaching us head-on. I can't tell if there's anything on the sides or rear, but the front is clear of any identifying marks. The vehicle is entering the range of our anti-armor weaponry; what do you want me to do with it, over?" the outpost head asked. Whoever was in the SUV was not supposed to be there; everyone who was expected had been accounted for.  
  
"Let it come in; at least until you can see the sides, and if there are any marks on it. I want to know if that's an Umbrella vehicle," Ian replied. "All other outposts stand-to, and expect imminent enemy contact. At least they won't catch us with our pants down," Ian said, muttering the last phrase so only he, Mark and Melissa could hear it.  
  
"Sir, the SUV has just passed our positions, on its way towards you. There is a negative on identifying marks; the vehicle is clean," Echo Two- Seven said, about a minute later.  
  
"Copy that. Something about this doesn't feel right. Estimated ETA to contact?" Ian asked next.  
  
"Three minutes. Vehicle should be entering your visual range in about thirty seconds. Wait one, the vehicle just stopped. Driver-side door is opening, he's getting out!" Echo Two-Seven called, sweeping his binoculars over the SUV.  
  
"Can you confirm the identity of the driver?" Ian asked.  
  
"I can't tell. He isn't facing me, and he's too far away from the inner perimeter for them to get a good look at him. He just collapsed, and he's grabbing his head," came the next call over the radio net.  
  
Matt had no idea what was happening. One second he was driving towards the Coalition facility, intending to carry out his mission, the next he was lying down on the road, writhing in pain. His head was pounding as he tried to figure out what was going on. The world seemed to be spinning, as images flashed past his eyes. One second, he saw a wall with the insignia of the Umbrella Corporation clearly emblazoned on it; the next being attacked by Umbrella Special Forces, while he was inside some sort of warehouse. The images continued, as he then saw his primary targets, laughing and joking with him, as well as fighting alongside him, in the case of Chris Redfield.  
  
Almost as suddenly as his migraines started, they left him; dazed and confused, with no idea as to what was happening to him. He stood back up shakily, having to lean on the SUV for support. He got back into the driver's seat and closed the door, before shifting the vehicle back into gear, and getting on with his mission.  
  
'What's wrong with me all of the sudden?' he thought to himself. 'It doesn't matter. As soon as I complete this mission, Lord Spencer's people can tell me just what happened to me in the past.'  
  
"Did anyone get a good look at him?" Ian asked. Mark had spotted the SUV heading towards them just seconds ago, and had alerted them to its presence.  
  
"The best I can give you is a description. He was between five feet ten, and six feet three inches tall, with brown hair. He had on a set of camouflage BDUs, but I didn't see any weapons. Echo Lead, I'm requesting authorization to follow the SUV in, just in case he tries anything funny," Echo Two-Seven called over the radio, getting his men ready to move out.  
  
"Permission denied, Echo Two-Seven," Ian replied, before Echo Lead could. "We need to keep the defensive perimeter intact. If he tries anything, we can handle it."  
  
"Copy that Eagle Five-One. Echo Two-Seven is staying on-station. Good luck," he replied, before signing off from the radio net and continuing to observe the road.  
  
"Here we go," Mark muttered, as the SUV reached a distance of three hundred yards from their position. Even though he couldn't see them, he knew that the men in the tree lines were readying their weapons, just in case. With an unknown vehicle this close to the meeting, they couldn't afford to take any chances. A minute later, the vehicle arrived at their pseudo-roadblock, and stopped. Mark leveled his F-1100 at the driver's side window, only needing an excuse to fire. Ian too had a weapon leveled at the SUV; a LAW light anti-tank rocket launcher. The driver shut off the engine, and waited several seconds before very slowly opening the door.  
  
"My God," was all Ian could say, as Matt Ryan stepped out. The rocket launcher was immediately secured, as Mark put his rifle on safe.  
  
"I can't believe it. How did you escape?" Mark asked, amazed that the driver was Matt.  
  
"It's a long story, involving a lot of dead Umbrella soldiers, and a very lucky break," Matt replied. He looked at Ian and Mark, and barely hid a frown. He was so close to accomplishing his mission, and they had to be right here, waiting for him. How could they have known? Was there a leak somewhere in Umbrella? There was only one way to find out.  
  
"What's up with the welcoming committee?" he asked, with a slight smile on his face.  
  
"Long story," Ian replied. Matt studied him carefully, and knew that Ian wasn't buying his story. The way his eyes narrowed, ever so slightly, gave his skepticism away.  
  
"Matt!" a new voice called, causing his head to turn. There stood his second primary target, Melissa Jones. Matt managed to hide a look of surprise as she ran up to him, and embraced him. His briefing had apparently been very inadequate when covering the personal relationships he was supposed to be having with these renegades. "I knew, I just knew you were still alive."  
  
"Melissa, step away from him," Ian said slowly, before raising a modified Colt 1911A pistol, and leveling it at Matt. Even Mark seemed to be surprised at Ian's actions. Melissa spun around, staring at Ian in shock, not understanding why he was acting like he was.  
  
Only Ian seemed to notice that the way Matt was acting was different. He carried himself differently, he acted differently than he did before, and above all Ian noticed that his right hand, his gun hand, had been slowly creeping down, towards the small of his back. Only pondering this prevented him from firing when Matt suddenly pulled out a concealed Beretta nine millimeter pistol, and pressed it against Melissa's head.  
  
"Get out of my way, or she dies," he growled, as Mark snapped his F- 1100 up into firing position. All around them, the defensive teams were standing up, leveling their rifles at Matt. The sound of charging handles being pulled back on M-16s, F-1100s, and various other rifles replaced the previous silence on the roadway.  
  
"You aren't getting through. I don't know what happened to you, but by God, you aren't getting through," Ian replied, adjusting his aim slightly, so that he would wound, instead of kill Matt, if the situation warranted. "You shoot her, and you'll be dead before the shell casing hits the ground."  
  
"If I die, we all die," he replied, before shifting the Beretta to his left hand, and pulling out a glowing vial from a pocket in his BDU shirt with his right. "You know what this is, traitor," Matt hissed, before tightening his grip around Melissa's neck.  
  
"We're immune," Ian replied, with a smile. "You might as well put that away."  
  
"You didn't actually think that Umbrella wouldn't modify the T-virus to nullify your pathetic attempts at creating a vaccine, did you? Sure, it took some time experimenting on the survivors of your Alpha Site, but they did it. I drop this, and in a few hours you all die."  
  
"Better us than that thing being released inside the meeting. You are not going inside," Ian replied. Despite his threat, several of the nearby soldiers were backing up slightly, hoping that if the shooting did start, they might be able to save themselves from becoming infected.  
  
"If that's the way you feel about it, then I guess I might as well take out two of my primary targets, along with several dozen enemy soldiers. Goodbye, Mr. Williams," Matt said, before preparing to drop the vial. Just as he let it slip from his grasp, he was struck by another crippling migraine. The hand holding the vial shot forward in an attempt to prevent Matt from falling forward, connecting with the vial and pushing it forward, sending it flying directly into the chest of a startled Ian Williams, who managed to catch the vial, and prevent it from shattering and releasing the virus. Matt's attempts to recover failed, sending him crashing to the ground, almost dragging Melissa down with him. As he lay there, writhing in pain, Mark carefully approached, and kicked his gun away.  
  
"Sorry buddy," he said, before striking Matt in the face with the butt of his F-1100, causing him to black out.  
  
The first thing Matt noticed when he woke up was that he couldn't move. He looked around, and saw that he had been tied to a chair, in some sort of small, isolated building. In fact, the building looked more like a garden shed of some sort, with tools like shovels and hedge trimmers adorning the walls. He tried his restraints again, and found that no matter how much effort he put into them, they wouldn't budge. Since he wasn't able to go anywhere, Matt contented himself to observing his surroundings, looking for anything that could aid him in his escape. He thought about moving the chair over to the hedge trimmers, until he realized that whoever imprisoned him had also bolted the chair down into the building's concrete foundation.  
  
"Hello Matt," Ian Williams said, stepping into the shed. Matt looked past him, observing the outside of the building, and where the guards were stationed.  
  
"Director Williams," was all Matt said in reply, with as much hostility as he could muster.  
  
"That's no way to talk to a friend, Matt. What did Spencer do to you?" he asked.  
  
"Nothing. What are you going to do with me?" Matt asked in return.  
  
"I don't believe that. The Matt Ryan I knew would've never acted like that, and I'm sure that he would've never pulled a gun on his fiancée, if he was in his right mind. That leaves me to conclude that Umbrella did something to you. If you don't want to talk about it, I'm not adequately equipped to force you, and I don't think I'd have the stomach to anyway. We're going to hold you here until we can figure out what's wrong with you," Ian answered, as Matt frowned. He hadn't known that Melissa, his second target, was supposed to be his fiancée. A voice deep down inside told him that what Ian was saying was true, but he still couldn't bring himself to believe it.  
  
"Whatever," he replied, testing his restraints again.  
  
"Oh, there's one more interesting thing. We tested that vial of the virus you had; it hasn't been altered at all, and our vaccine took it out with no problems. Even if you would've dropped it, nothing would've happened. Even you're immune to it; from your time in the SOC. Just thought you would've liked to know that," Ian said, before turning his back on Matt, and walking out of the shed. Because he turned, he didn't see Matt frown again, thinking back to just before he was sent on this mission.  
  
"Now remember, Mr. Ryan, they've shown themselves to be more than willing to use biological weapons. That's why we're going to give you a T- virus vaccination, just in case. You'll be immune to anything they release, in addition to the vials we've given you. Just make sure you aren't caught, or our enemies will be able to neutralize our new vaccine, and alter their viruses so we can't cure them anymore," an Umbrella doctor had told Matt, before injecting him with what was supposed to be the vaccine. He had felt an incredible burning sensation in his arm, where he had received the shot, for several hours afterward, and noticed that since then it had become slightly discolored.  
  
'If Williams is right, Umbrella must've known that I was already immune. That means I didn't get a vaccine,' Matt thought to himself. 'They intended to use me to deliver the virus all right. And they don't know it.' He was still unwilling to trust the SOC and S.T.A.R.S., whom he felt were still enemies, but an incredible rage at Spencer's treachery filled him, causing him to redouble his efforts at breaking the restraints. He was shocked when he felt them start to give way, with the handcuffs holding his hands behind his back finally snapping. With his hands free, he immediately went to work on the ropes tying him to the chair, undoing them in a matter of seconds. Shocked at the speed with which he broke free, he immediately leapt to his feet, and picked up the hedge trimmers. He removed the screw holding the two shears together, intending to use them as a pair of large knives. Matt walked up to the door and slowly pushed it open, scanning his surroundings carefully. There were no guards in sight, as he stepped outside, and immediately ran for a nearby shadow.  
  
'Something's wrong with me,' he thought to himself, looking back towards the shed. 'There's no way I should've been able to cover that distance so quickly.' That wasn't the only thing he noticed. Even though the moon was up and it was night, he found that he could see extremely well, and could even hear the heartbeat of an approaching guard. He risked peeking around the corner of the building he was leaning against, to see the guard, with his back turned, in the shadows less than ten feet away. Matt seized the opportunity, sneaking up behind the man, and putting him in a chokehold. He intended to break the man's neck, but something deep down told him not to do it, so instead he maintained the hold until the guard passed out. Matt picked up his weapon, an M-4 carbine, and searched him for ammunition, finding three clips, in addition to the one already in the weapons.  
  
He crept up to the edge of the building, saw no guards, and moved to the next patch of shadows, moving even farther, faster, than he did before. Still seeing no guards, he did spot an idling truck, with a clear path to the facility's exit. Creeping forward carefully, he stopped in every patch of shadows, looking for more guards. Finally, he reached the truck, checked one last time for guards, and jumped into the cab. He shifted the truck into gear, flooring the accelerator. He shot out of the base, determined to get his revenge on Spencer for his betrayal.  
  
"Sir, the locator beacon has gone active. We have Matt's location," an aide said, as Ian Williams smiled. While Matt was unconscious, they had planted a homing beacon on him, hoping that he would lead them back to whatever base he had come from. As Ian watched the GPS numbers change, he held up a sheet of paper, comparing Matt's location to what was on the letter.  
  
"It's going to be a match," he muttered, with a smug sort of surprise. "Give the signal; we're moving out."  
  
Author's Notes: Yes, I know, another cliff hanger. Scout's honor, you won't have to wait as long for the next chapter as you all did for this one. It'll be up soon, I promise.  
  
I know this chapter may have been a little hard to understand, so if you have any questions, feel free to e-mail me: msk86go.com or mstrofmwhotmail.com. I'll be happy to answer them, provide spoilers, outline where I'm taking the story, etc. That's about all for this chapter, time for the only redeeming quality of this whole story; the COMING ATTRACTIONS!  
  
Next Chapter: Boy oh boy, action galore highlights next chapter, as Matt arrives at Umbrella's prison facility, and the SOC and S.T.A.R.S. launch a lightning strike against it, with the hopes of killing or capturing Andrew Spencer and freeing the SOC prisoners held there. Plus, major plot twists, as the true purpose behind the Earth Alliance intervention against Umbrella is revealed (along with, dare I say, a huge revelation about Umbrella, and their biological weapons program). You aren't going to want to miss this one, so stay tuned for Operation: Falling S.T.A.R.S. Chapter Seventeen: Revolution. 


	17. Revolution

Disclaimer: Anything and everything that I create for this story is mine. Stuff that I don't come up with isn't. And, because their stupid security update crashed my computer and wiped out my first draft of this chapter, Microsoft must burn.

Author's Notes: I'm going to keep this really short, since you've all been waiting so long for me to finally update. To make a long story very, very brief, the last few months have been a disaster for my writing program. From a complete computer crash (which wiped out this chapter when it was hours away from completion), to spending over a month struggling to set up a wireless network in my house, I've gotten really sick of dealing with computers.

But I can't just cut and run, especially when I still (I hope) have a following. So I held my incredible anger at this stupid, piece of crap computer in check, and got down to business. To quote Governator Ah-nuld, "I'm back."

Before I get started, I'd just like to apologize for any formatting errors, or format differences between this chapter and my others. Since I lose all of my old benchmark chapters (again) I have to go from memory, and it isn't quite as sharp as it used to be. Oh well. As the old saying goes, "The show must go on."

Operation Falling S.T.A.R.S.

Chapter Seventeen: Revolution

Umbrella Detention Facility

Eastern Oregon

November 17, 2001 10:30 PM

"Tell me, Mr. O'Brien, exactly what part of my orders did you not understand?" Andrew Spencer asked, enunciating each word clearly, and staring down the facility's chief of security.

"Lord Spencer, I fully understood your orders. But I do not think removing half of this facility's security forces will be wise. We still have over a dozen high-value targets here, and if Ryan revealed our location to the SOC and S.T.A.R.S., they may already be on the way," he replied, standing nervously. He knew perfectly well what happened to people who argued with Lord Andrew Spencer, and had no wish to end up dead, or worse. But he felt doing his job successfully was worth the risk.

"I have faith in him," Spencer replied, with a smile. "Along with a failsafe. By the time they would be able to torture the information out of him, it'll be too late. If it'll make you feel better though, I'll post a reactionary force, say, thirty miles away from here. In the off-chance that the renegades manage to gather enough forces together, which I highly doubt, to make a serious attack against this facility, then we'll have a reserve force ready to counter-attack when they least expect it. So try to have a little faith in your boss, Mr. O'Brien. Next time I may not be in such a good mood." With that, Spencer dismissed the man, and sat at his desk, pondering the conversation. Darren O'Brien had, in fact, made several good points, and he wasn't willing to place too much faith in Ryan, or the failsafe. He lifted up the phone in the small office he had commandeered from the facility's "Warden," and debated what to do for several minutes. Finally, he decided to dial Xenia's cell phone number.

"Have my helicopter prepared," he said, after she picked up, realizing he was probably smart in getting out while he still could. "We're leaving."

Somewhere in Montana

November 17, 2001 11:03 PM

Matt Ryan frowned as he let his mind wander again, trying to remember anything at all from his life before Umbrella. He was currently pulled off to the side of the road about ten miles from the Umbrella facility, if his memory was correct. Matt was sitting on the ground next to the truck, which he had covered with a handful of pine branches, to help camouflage it from anyone passing by on the highway.

'Not that I'm willing to put much faith in my memory, since I'm coming up blank on everything before my time at the facility. I don't even know if those are real memories, or fake,' Matt thought to himself, depressed.

'Could they have been telling the truth?' he added, remembering what Director Williams had said about him being a part of the SOC, rather than against it. 'Why else would Spencer have double-crossed me?'

Just thinking about the head of Umbrella set off another round of migraines, and a new set of images flashing before his eyes. He was instantly glad he had decided to stop driving, and take some time to review what he remembered from the facility's layout. "If I had been behind the wheel when this last one hit, it would've been curtains for me," he said, laughing slightly. "So much for the great Matt Ryan, bane of Umbrella, and enemy of the SOC. Of course, maybe it's all supposed to end in a few hours anyway. What's the point of delaying it any longer?" he asked rhetorically, before walking back towards his hijacked truck. Just as he climbed into the driver's seat, a series of headlights flickered into existence about three miles up the road, coming from the direction of Umbrella's prison complex.

"Wonder what we have here," he mumbled aloud, watching the vehicles draw closer. "Wonder why I really care. As long as they're leaving the Umbrella base, it makes my job that much easier. So roll on, you lucky monsters. Death isn't your fate today."

Umbrella Convoy

November 17, 2001 11:07 PM

"Tell me again why Lord Spencer wanted us all to drop what we were doing, and relocate nearly one hundred armed men to some backwater, middle-of-nowhere outpost," Corporal Jason Silverson griped, as his truck rumbled down the deserted dirt road leading from Umbrella's detention facility. He had been given the honor of leading their convoy of a dozen trucks and half dozen jeeps to their destination. He was the only driver who had been given their destination, in order to keep their deployment a secret.

"If I told you, I really would have to shoot you," replied Captain Alex Nielson, with a smile. "And then I'd be shot myself. I don't think either of us really wants that to happen now, do we? Besides, as long as we get paid, and we aren't getting shot at by some group of fanatics, or ex-cops or ex-military, I'm not going to complain. After what I heard about the raid on those CIA commandos, I'd rather take my chances with a Tyrant any day. Did you hear; they set off a couple of nukes up in Canada, to try and take out as many of our people as possible? Hundreds of casualties, and for what? All we got were less than two dozen prisoners from one of the sites, including the ones left for dead. What a waste of men and equipment. The company had to have lost a good three billion dollars in bioweapons, equipment, weapons, and training costs for replacement USF soldiers, not counting losses to the U.S. military. For twenty four lousy guys. Lord Spencer must've really wanted them dead."

"I'll say," Jason replied. "I'm just glad I wasn't up there. They tried to recruit me into one of those special anti-B.O.W. units, but I told them I was perfectly happy driving trucks. The worst thing I ever have to deal with is rush hour traffic. Nothing trying to impale me, no one out to kill me. No one ever bothers the lowly truck driver. The pay is good, and at the end of the day, I can go to sleep with a clean conscience, and be happy that I don't have to deal with those monsters."

"Yeah, you leave those nightmares to us. Trust me, nothing those S.T.A.R.S. or renegade military guys can throw at us will stop Umbrella from shutting them down. Then we won't have to worry about any more accidents, or cities having to be destroyed. The world can finally go back to normal. Sounds nice, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, it does. I remember back when all I had to do was haul pharmaceuticals across the country. I still miss the Raccoon City run that I used to pull every other month. Easiest, best paying job I ever got from Umbrella. All I ever had to do was drive a tanker full of HAZMAT bio-gunk to the Raccoon facility, sign off on it, and leave. No questions asked, and a nice, fat paycheck waiting for me," Jason replied. "Those were the days. Now I have to drive around security personnel, hoping that I don't get shot by some psycho who has a grudge against Umbrella."

"At least you don't have to actually go up against those nuts. I was in the second wave of the assault on the SOC Alpha Site. Those people were ruthless. I heard they shot their own wounded, just so they could booby-trap their corpses. Then they set off a nuke above their own base, before self-destructing it. But they can't even hold a flame to the S.T.A.R.S. I mean, releasing biological weapons in not one, not two, but three different cities. And no one even knows why they've done it," Alex stated. He knew that most of what he said wasn't true, but Corporal Silverson had no need to know that.

"Did you see that?" Jason said, turning his head to the left, trying to catch another glimpse of something outside.

"No. What was it?" Alex replied, slightly concerned. Their convoy was supposed to be secret, but if any of Umbrella's enemies learned of it, they would certainly try to hit such an under protected target.

"Looked like something glinting, like light reflecting off of a headlight, or something. Do you want me to stop, and send someone to check it out?" Jason asked, slowly lowering his foot on the brake.

"If it were an ambush, we'd already be dead. There's nothing we can do except drive on, and hope to make it in one piece. I'll tell the other trucks to keep an eye open, though," Alex said, before reaching for a walkie-talkie. "No matter what happens, don't stop."

"Thank God," Matt sighed as the last Umbrella vehicle rolled past his truck, seemingly not spotting him. He was relieved that his hasty camouflaging of the truck had paid off. Having to deal with one hundred Umbrella soldiers in a location which would allow them to bring all of their firepower to bear at once did not seem like a good idea; at least as far at he was concerned. Just as he was reaching for the key to restart the truck's engine however, a loud explosion shattered the still night air.

"What the!?" Matt shouted, diving for the floor of the truck. The explosion sounded as though it were right next to him. He shoved the door open with his shoulder, and rolled out of the truck to the ground below. What he saw shocked him, which was not something that happened easily.

At least five miles away, a single truck from the Umbrella convoy was burning. That had been the explosion Matt had heard, and what had sent him out of the truck, scrambling for cover. He frowned slightly, noticing that as he focused on the truck, it appeared to be moving closer to him. It took him a second to realize that it wasn't actually moving, but that somehow his vision was magnifying that area, as if he were holding a pair of binoculars up to his face.

"Well, that's a nice trick," he muttered to himself, smiling slightly. "And thanks to that truck exploding, I have a shot at getting into that prison facility undetected. I never thought I'd say this again, but thank you Umbrella Corporation." With that, Matt jumped back into the truck's cab, started the engine, and began the final leg of his journey to Umbrella's prison complex, and his confrontation with Andrew Spencer.

Umbrella Convoy

November 17, 2001 11:12 PM

"Go go go!" Alex shouted, as he watched the burning Umbrella flatbed truck roll off to the side of the road before its fuel tank exploded. "We have to get out of here now!"

"What was the heck was that!" Jason yelled in reply, already stomping the accelerator pedal to the floor. A quick glance in to his rear-view mirror showed about three-fourths of the convoy following suit, with the remaining vehicles speeding towards the Umbrella base they had just departed from.

"A rocket, a mine, I don't know. Just keep moving or we're all dead!" Alex continued, sounding almost hysterical. His mind was racing nearly as fast as their truck as he reached for his handheld CB radio, intending to radio in the attack. Just as he grabbed it, the truck's front right tire crashed into a pothole, sending Alex's head smacking off of the dashboard.

"I said to drive fast, not kill us all idiot!" Alex roared in frustration, reaching again for the radio. Just as his hand wrapped around it, fate saw fit to cause him to glance out of the passenger side window.

"Oh dear God," were his last words.

"Score one for the good guys," Mark muttered, as he watched the Umbrella truck burning through a pair of high-powered binoculars. While the team manning the Dragon anti-tank rocket launcher responsible for the attack reloaded, several .50 caliber machine guns were raking the surviving trucks and other light vehicles of the makeshift convoy, tearing up the troops who were inside. It was purely by chance that they had timed their arrival at Umbrella's facility so close to the departure of at least a hundred guards.

"Personally Ian," Mark said, looking over his shoulder at the SOC commander, "I'm glad that we decided to deploy scouts three miles ahead of the main body of our attack force. We were lucky that they spotted the Umbrella convoy, and radioed in a warning with enough time for us to clear off the road and set up an ambush." Ian didn't say anything in reply, but continued scanning the remnants of the Umbrella convoy as they tried to escape the kill zone. In less than twenty seconds, it was all over.

None of the relatively intact vehicles were moving, something that Mark chalked up to the heavy machine guns. He figured that they had punched through the light doors of the trucks, and turned the occupants of the truck cabs into Swiss cheese. There would be no escape for these unfortunate Umbrella soldiers. Mark again turned to look at Ian, who was now watching his GPS tracker, observing Matt's current movements.

"He's stopped," Ian said, as another rocket impacted one of the convoy vehicles. A third rocket was fired seconds later, indicating that another launcher had been set up. "Leave them. Even if there are survivors, they're not going to be in any condition to attack us," he ordered. "We have more important things to attend to, and I'm not going to keep my friend waiting."

Umbrella Detention Facility

November 17, 2001 11:18 PM

"I'm sorry Mr. Ryan, but Lord Spencer has already left," the guard at the facility's entrance said. Matt managed to keep his face blank, hiding a frown.

'So,' he thought, 'He managed to run away, and deny me a chance at payback.' What he actually said was, "That's okay. I can file my report from inside." The guard nodded, and waved him through, not questioning him about where he had gotten the truck, or why he had returned, at all. Matt was more than a little surprised, but not willing to question his otherwise good fortunes. Besides, he had a plan to get at least a little revenge against Spencer.

He put the truck into gear, driving down the half-mile access road that led to the facility itself. On either side of the road, the trees had been cleared, ensuring that anyone attempting to reach the facility would be completely exposed, without any cover to hide in.

'Or any shadows,' he thought with a wince, as another high-powered searchlight lazily crossed the road in front of him, causing him to shut his eyes or risk being blinded. By now he had no trouble seeing in the dark, although intense light, such as the searchlight, was extremely painful to look into. 'Luckily, there won't be any of those inside the facility.'

His plan, he thought, would at least get Spencer's attention. As soon as he got into the facility, he was going to head to the security station, neutralize everyone in it, and release the SOC prisoners inside. With them out running amok, it would be easy for Matt to either set the self-destruct, leveling the complex and sending Spencer a message he couldn't ignore, or allow the former prisoners to take the facility and do with it what they will. No matter what course of action Matt took, Spencer would lose the joy of torturing his prisoners to death, his facility, and all of his people still stationed there.

After what seemed like an endless drive due to the anxiety he was feeling upon his return to the facility, Matt arrived at the complex's main building. He put the truck in park, deciding to let the engine idle in case he needed to make a quick getaway. 'Besides,' he thought to himself, 'I'm not going to be here long enough for anyone to notice it.'

"So, did anyone else think that Ryan returning so early was strange?" Corporal Jack Stevens, of the Umbrella Special Forces, asked. He was currently sitting inside the detention facility's security center, monitoring a half-dozen cameras around the facility's perimeter. With the size of the guard force reduced so much, everyone had had to pull double-, and in some cases triple-duty. That meant, for example, that men in the surrounding guard towers would not only be watching for intruders and running the searchlights, but also responsible for monitoring various acoustical sensors scattered around outside the facility's grounds.

"Yeah. There's something wrong here. He was on the list of departures from here, but he wasn't cleared by Lord Spencer to return. I'm sure someone up the line just forgot to add his name, but all the same, I want to kick this one up the chain of command," was the reply of the ranking officer in the center, Lieutenant Jacob Newon. He picked up a phone mounted next to the large bank of monitors, and hit the speed dial for the chief of security.

"What?" the chief growled, picking up the phone. Spencer had kept him awake for the last forty six hours, tasking him with making sure that his VIP prisoners were adequately protected, and permitting Spencer to toy around with Ryan without fear of him escaping.

"Ah, sir, the main gate just called in. Matt Ryan is on his way inside the facility," Newon said.

"Lord Spencer didn't tell me anything about him returning. I want you to keep an eye on him. If he does anything suspicious, signal a red alert immediately. I don't want to take any chances with him," he replied, before hanging up. He sighed, before putting his head down on his desk, and hoping for a few minutes of sleep.

On the other end of the line, Lieutenant Newon also placed his phone back on its cradle. "Okay people, let's find Ryan," he said, as the three other people in the room began flipping through video feeds, looking for their target. His search was interrupted when he heard a soft gurgling sound coming from his left.

"Whoever's doing that, knock it off and get back to work. We have to find Ryan," he said, without looking up to see what the source of the gurgling was. What felt like only a heartbeat later, the sound repeated, along with a terrified scream. This time Newon looked up, to see that two of his men, Stevens and Private Terrance, had their throats viciously slashed. The third man, the one doing the screaming, had a knife sticking out of his windpipe, obviously from where someone had thrown it.

'That means,' Newon thought, noticing the shadow behind him before he was even able to start turning around to face it, 'Oh no.' He felt pressure on his neck, as a pair of arms wrapped around his head, before the world went black. Lieutenant Newon never even saw the face of his assailant, the man he had been working so hard to find, that he hadn't even noticed was in the same room he was.

Matt pushed the USF officer, a lieutenant by the looks of it, out of the chair he had been occupying, watching his body limply fall to the floor, with his neck bent at an unnatural angle. He sat down at the keyboard in front of the seat, and began deactivating the security cameras and sensors scattered around the facility. Just as he turned off the last camera, a voice crackled into being on the facility's radio network.

"This is Private Greganski, calling anyone in the Pegasus Detention Complex. Our convoy has just been attacked by unknown assailants; repeat, Umbrella convoy under attack by unknown assailants. Request immediate assistance, and recommend the facility goes to Alert One status," the man on the radio said, as Matt stared at the radio receiver in fear. If security was going to be tightened, his mission was a failure. Just as he was preparing to scrub his little operation, he realized that the signal was so weak and the radio receiver in the security center clearly the most powerful in the complex that it would take at least another few minutes for anyone else in the facility to hear the message.

Reassured, Matt went back to shutting down security systems, including the facility's electrified fences. When he had finished, he bent over, pulled a .40 caliber Glock pistol out of the holster on the lieutenant's right hip, and fired a half-dozen shots into the security console, ensuring that no one would be able to undo the damage he had caused.

With the first part of his mission accomplished, Matt removed the holster from the dead USF officer, along with a pair of extra clips for the pistol. He removed the man's rank insignias from his collar, pinning them on to his own, in order to allow him to blend in at least a little bit more than he had previously. He then looked over each corpse, checking specifically to see what size bulletproof vests they were wearing. He noticed that one of the men whose throats he had cut was a close enough match that he could make do, and removed the man's vest.

"Sorry buddy, you won't be needing this anymore," Matt said to the corpse. The man obviously made no reply as Matt finished policing the bodies for any ammunition or equipment he could use. All he came up with were another pistol, this one chambered in 9 millimeter, and three clips for it. He figured that the majority of the weapons would have to be stored in the armory, somewhere he hoped he wouldn't have to go. From the quick walkthrough he had done of the facility, and his own memories, the security center was very close to where the prisoners were being held. Unfortunately for him, the armory was on the opposite side of the building from where he wanted to be, meaning he would have to pass a large number of people who might or might not be able to blow his cover.

Sanity would dictate that he shouldn't even bother with the armory, but he knew that without weapons, the prisoners wouldn't be able to do much of anything except get slaughtered. Even though he wasn't sure what aspects of his life were true and what weren't, losing such a valuable distraction was a risk Matt would not take, no matter what his previous affiliation in the SOC/S.T.A.R.S.-Umbrella conflict was. To be blunt, he needed those people alive and fighting. So he sighed, replaced the clip in his Glock with a fresh one, and walked out of the security center.

'This better work,' he thought, pulling the door shut, and smashing the keycard reader with the butt of his M4, hoping to at least slow down the discovery of his victims. 'I'm this close already; I'm not going to get a second chance.'

"Well Mark, there it is. Matt's in there somewhere," Ian said, scanning the Umbrella facility with a pair of high-powered binoculars. All of the approaches to the base seemed to be perfectly defended. For a half-mile in every direction around the facility foliage had been bulldozed clear, ensuring that there was no cover between the perimeter and the facility. Numerous guard towers ringed the facility, with spotlights blazing across the ground, and heavy machineguns clearly visible.

"Now we just have to figure out how to get in there ourselves. We could nail the towers with rockets," Mark suggested, before continuing, "But we can't get them all in one volley, which means the surviving towers have clear shots at our guys. I don't see how it's possible to get in there without taking at least 50 casualties to our forces."

"Sometimes," Ian began softly, "It's best just to wait, and see what Lady Luck will throw our way."

"As long as it isn't an Evans-loyal armored brigade, or a six-pack of Tyrants, I'm game," Mark muttered, with a weak smile. "Since they don't know we're here, what have we got to lose?"

"Exactly. Besides, we still have at least five hours before it starts to get light out, so we can at least get some reconnaissance work done. I want to have as much information about this facility available to me as is humanly possible. If we get our break, I want our people moving ASAP," Ian replied. "We may not get a second chance."

"So I say to the guy, 'What? You don't take Visa?' And he looks at me, and he says, 'Where do you think you are? Wal-Mart?'" One of two Umbrella guards standing outside a heavily-reinforced steel door laughed.

"That was one of the worst jokes I've ever heard. I can't believe I'm stuck here, guarding the Armory for the next five hours, with you. Security Chief O'Brien has to hate me," the second Umbrella guard replied, before rubbing his temples. "Please, don't open your mouth again until my shift is over."

"Oh, come on, it wasn't that bad. Besides, you can't do anything to me. Chief O'Brien's orders," the guard replied, with a smile.

"Hey! You're not supposed to be down here!" the second guard yelled, bringing his G3 assault rifle up to his shoulder. The first guard hesitated, holding his rifle just below his shoulder, observing the person who had just rounded the corner in front of them.

"I believe it should be, 'You aren't supposed to be down here, sir,' Corporal," the man replied. It was then that the first guard noticed his rank insignias, and quickly saluted.

"Sorry about that, sir. My comrade here is a bit over-reactive," he said. The second guard, however, didn't budge.

"I don't recognize you, and I know every officer in this facility. Show me your orders, and identification badge, right now!" he barked, pulling the slide back on his rifle.

"Very good. Lord Spencer himself sent me here, to conduct a surprise test of base security. We've received word that the S.T.A.R.S. have obtained the location of this facility, and may be on the way here right now. Lord Spencer wanted me to ensure that, if they do decide to show their cowardly faces, they'll receive a warm reception," the officer replied, with a smile. The second guard remained unconvinced, however.

"I know I've seen you before. Now, where are your orders and identification?" he asked, slightly tightening his grip on his rifle.

"Calm down, soldier. Lord Spencer also sent me here to see whether base security has already been breached. We received reports that some of our personnel have become sympathetic towards the enemy's cause, and have been hard at work weakening our defenses throughout the company. In fact, we were even able to discover that there is an enemy spy in this very facility, as we speak. This oversight cannot be allowed to remain uncorrected," he replied, slowly spreading his hands apart, to show that he was no threat to them.

"Can you tell us who you suspect?" the first guard asked, leaning forward in anticipation. He had never been entrusted with any secrets before, and befriending this officer who was obviously close enough to Lord Spencer to be trusted with such an important assignment wouldn't hurt his career ambitions. The second guard remained hesitant, not willing to trust this mysterious stranger.

"I'll tell you, but I wouldn't trust that friend of yours over there," the Lieutenant whispered to the first guard. "If you know what I mean."

"I see," the guard whispered in reply. "I always thought there was something wrong with him. Now I have my proof."

"There's one more thing that you need to know," the officer added, leaning in even closer to the guard. The man's eyes widened in anticipation.

"You're the biggest moron I've ever met," he continued, slamming his fist into the man's jaw, knocking him to the ground unconscious.

"Get your hands up on your head, and face the wall," he ordered. The fake officer's smile only widened, as he carried out the first of the guard's instructions. Before the man could make another command, however, the imposter pulled a small knife from behind his back, and threw it, catching the second guard in the chest. The knife smashed through the man's body armor, and he fell to the floor screaming.

"Sorry about that, gentlemen," Matt Ryan added, pulling his knife out of the dying guard's chest. "But I have business to attend to in the Armory. Now, if you'll excuse me," he said, pulling out the identification card from the dead lieutenant in the security center, "I have to go give your boss an ulcer." Matt swiped the card through the reader, and stepped into the Armory, taking a second to scan through the racks of automatic rifles, light and heavy machine guns, and single-use rocket launchers. He noticed several large duffel bags, presumably used to ferry weapons and ammunition to wherever it was needed by the building's defenders.

"That will have to do," Matt said, before grabbing two of the bags and shoving P-90s, G3s, and a pair of LAW rocket launchers into the bags. He picked them up gingerly; testing their weight to make sure the fabric wouldn't tear, and was surprised at how easily he was able to lift them. He guessed that each bag had about one hundred pounds of weapons in them, along with ammunition, and each one felt like it was about as heavy as a pillow. He began walking towards the Armory doors, when a box next to him caught his eye. 'Oh yes,' he thought, 'Those will do nicely.'

Umbrella Pegasus Detention Facility

Main Gates

November 17 2001 11:23 PM

"Let us in!" Private Greganski shouted, laying on the horn of his truck. Three other vehicles were pulled up with his truck, anxiously waiting to get into the safe haven of the facility grounds.

"You aren't on my list," the officer manning the gate stated. "Why are you here?"

"Didn't anyone tell you? Our convoy just got turned into Swiss cheese, and you're worried about a list? I've been on the radio for the last ten minutes, trying to reach anyone here. And even before we made it here to the gate, we got shot at again. So whoever blew the crap out of our convoy is right here, and they brought a lot of big guns with them!" Greganski yelled, grabbing the startled guard by his uniform's collar. "We need to get in here now and report to Chief O'Brien."

"All right, go," the guard replied, prying Greganski's hands away from his throat. "And if you see Ryan on your way in, tell him to report to the Chief too."

"Ryan's here?" Greganski asked. "We didn't pass anyone on the way out, or see anyone on the way back."

"Well he was in a big truck just like yours, so I'm surprised you missed him," the gate officer replied, hiding his satisfaction that something had escaped the knowledge of this lowly private.

"Of course," Greganski replied, finally putting all of the pieces together. "Ryan's back with the SOC, you fool. How could you have let him in here? Never mind. We have to warn Chief O'Brien, before it's too late."

"Sir!" a voice called, as Chief O'Brien snapped awake. One of his security personnel was standing in the doorway of his office.

"Have you found Ryan?" he asked, hoping that for once he would wake up to good news. He would have no such luck this time.

"It's worse than that, sir. Our convoy, or what's left of it, just made it back, sir. They were attacked about twenty miles out, and almost completely destroyed. Four vehicles made it back," the security officer replied.

"What about Ryan?" O'Brien asked, hoping to hear that he had turned up, and everything was just one big misunderstanding.

"That's just it, sir. It's been over a half-hour since he arrived at the gate, and we haven't seen him in any of the buildings yet. In fact, we haven't heard anything since his truck pulled up outside the building."

"What do you mean, his vehicle is outside? I thought you said you hadn't seen him!" O'Brien yelled, shocked at the man's incompetence.

"Since Ryan entered this building, every security camera in the facility has gone off-line. We were waiting to hear from the security center, since we've had security system failures here in the past before we did anything," the guard answered.

"Idiots! I want this building locked down now! Ryan is here, and he's definitely hostile. Send a team down to the security center; break down the doors if you have to. I don't care what you do, but find him!" O'Brien replied, before opening his desk drawer, and pulling out an MP-5, and a Kevlar vest. The guard left to carry out his orders, as a terrible thought crossed O'Brien's mind. 'Does he know what's happening to him, and does he want revenge?' "Send another team to the labs," he called, before heading that way himself. One way or another, Ryan had to be stopped, before he learned the truth.

"Come on, if the base has been compromised, we need weapons!" one of the men outside the Armory yelled.

"And if it is, you'll get them!" a very irritated guard yelled back. He knew his argument was futile; blood from one of the dead guards was splattered all over the corridor.

"That's bull and you know it. Now either let us in, or get out of the way," the man replied, before shouldering his way up to the front of the crowd.

"You take one more step and I fire," the guard said in return, leveling a pump-action shotgun at the offender's chest. Before anyone could say another word, a huge explosion rocked the facility. The screams and groans of the wounded followed immediately after the explosion, along with the clatter of automatic weapons fire.

"Let us in!" the man yelled, finally pushing through, and sliding an access card through the reader. As he stepped into the doorway, the guard who had tried to stop him had just enough time to notice that he was striding through a tripwire.

"No!" he yelled, just as several pounds of C4 detonated in his face, setting off a chain reaction of grenades, rockets and Claymore mines.

Matt smiled as the second explosion shook the building. Placing the C4 and mines right next to the only access door to the armory was an unbelievably stupid move, even for Umbrella. Not only would the number of weapons available for the defense of the facility be drastically reduced, but the havoc created by the explosions, and an insurrection by the remaining SOC prisoners created the perfect opportunity for him to escape. Matt strode down the corridor, ducking into doorways whenever he sensed a guard approaching. As he neared the entrance to the laboratory however, he was struck by another crippling headache. As he sank to one knee, visions began flying past him.

"Are you sure the tests are accurate?" someone said, as the image of a clean room flashed by.

"He's a goner. The virus is already beginning to deconstruct his cells. I'd say that this test of the Human Enhancement Virus is a failure. After about forty-eight hours, he'll enter the final stages of cellular death. After that, he'll be nothing more than an expensive T-class zombie. Tell Lord Spencer that he has his Trojan Horse," a second voice replied, as Matt realized the two people were talking about him. As he slouched against the wall, more images came back to him, each one seemingly more painful than the last. Then, with a final burst of memories, the headache subsided, and he returned to his feet. This time, however, the true Matt Ryan had returned.

"What have they done to me?" He asked aloud, before noticing that directly across the hall was the facility's lab complex, and the answers he was seeking. He checked both ends of the corridor, and dove across, before peering through the glass door for the lab. As far as he could tell, the room was empty. Matt tested the doorknob, and frowned when he felt that it was locked.

'Wait a minute. This shouldn't be able to stop me,' he thought, before backing up slightly, and ramming the door with his shoulder. It blew off its hinges, crashing into the lab. Matt smiled slightly, before walking over to a computer station. He typed in an access code, barely realizing he was doing it, and not knowing how he knew the number. The monitor flared to life, indicating that at least the base's power was still on. He began scanning through the documents on the hard drive, looking for anything of relevance. He stopped, in shock, when he found a file bearing his name. He double clicked on it, and began reading the report.

15 November, 2001

Subject: Matthew Ryan

Classification: Test Subject, Human Enhancement Virus (HEV) Program

Diagnosis: Terminal stage of cellular degeneration

Subject Ryan reacted to exposure to the HEV in much the same way as other test subjects have. Within sixty hours of exposure, the subject will lose all higher brain and motor functions, effectively becoming a T-series zombie. However, unlike earlier patients, the virus seems to have mutated, possibly in response to Subject Ryan's previous T-Virus vaccination. We are conducting further tests on his blood samples, but preliminary results indicate the virus has attained some capacity for airborne-transmission. Tests for airborne transmission will occur on 16 November, and will be posted under 'HEV Airborne,' in the 'Experiment' folder.

Jason P. Casey,

Senior Researcher

Matt closed the file, searching for the results of the test, while checking the clock on the computer against the time stamp on the file. 'Oh God,' he thought, noticing the date. 'I've got less than a day left.' Before he could ponder his fate any longer, he located the second document, and quickly began scanning over it.

16 November, 2001

Subject: HEV Airborne Transmission Experiment

Success! Not only did the HEV successfully transmit through the air, but it seems to have the shortest incubation time of any of the previous virus types. Two guard dogs were exposed to the virus sample extracted from the blood of Subject Ryan, and within two hours were already in the late stages of a T-Virus type-infection. No unexpected increase in physical attributes was detected at any point up to this time. Subjects were terminated, in order to prevent the virus from contaminating the facility.

However, it appears that Subject Ryan will not be able to transmit the virus until roughly an hour before going terminal. Lord Spencer signed off on our work, and transferred the entire team, along with the remaining samples, to the Olympus base. It's incredible that what began as a simple, routine examination has landed the entire team a spot in one of Umbrella's headquarters facilities. Further updates will be posted upon arrival at the secure site.

Jason P. Casey,

Senior Researcher

'Headquarters facilities?' Matt wondered, staring at the screen. 'Umbrella's main offices are in Paris. What is this guy talking about?' He was so confused by what the researcher had written that he almost missed the sound of someone entering the lab.

"Well Mr. Ryan, it seems you've learned the truth," said Darren O'Brien, leveling his MP5 at Matt. "Unfortunately, it won't do you any good."

"I have enough time left to do at least a little bit of damage to your company. I'm sorry to say your brainwashing attempt was a failure, by the way" Matt replied, slowly lowering his right hand, towards the Beretta pistol in the holster on his hip.

"Was it? We were able to lure your comrades into quite an ambush, one which, by my watch, will be sprung any minute now," O'Brien said, smiling. "So ultimately, what you do here doesn't matter. The little uprising you started was clever, I have to give you credit for that. Your friends may even be able to take the complex. But by then, it won't matter."

"What are you talking about? What ambush? And why won't it matter?" Matt asked, hoping to bait O'Brien into revealing Spencer's plans in time to thwart them.

"As we speak, the remnants of the SOC and S.T.A.R.S. are preparing to strike this facility. Oh come on, you don't think we'd be so stupid as to rig the facility grounds with surveillance equipment, and not monitor the perimeter? Although it took some doing, thanks to you destroying our primary systems, we were able to re-activate our surveillance systems. And once your friends enter the grounds, we strike. They'll be caught between the defenders of the facility and a quick-response task force that is already en route. Believe me when I say that this is the end of your rebellion."

"If you're right, at least we'll go down fighting," Matt retorted.

"Fair enough," O'Brien replied. "Before I kill you, or you kill me, or however this little parlay ends, I have to ask; aren't you at least a little curious about what we did to you? If I were in your position, I would be."

"You're going to tell me whether I am or not, so go on ahead," Matt said.

"It'll be my pleasure. Obviously, the hardest part was re-creating the HEV. Arguably, it was Birkin's greatest achievement. Forget his work on T, or creating the G-Virus, this had the potential of being the greatest weapon in our arsenal. Think about it; the ability to turn anyone into an unstoppable biological weapon, having the ability to kill anyone, anywhere, anytime, and not have to worry about the murder weapon being detected. It was perfect," O'Brien said.

"Was, had, potential. Sounds like you ran into a couple of obstacles," Matt replied.

"Birkin was, how shall we say it, ahead of his time. Even with an actual sample of the HEV acquired from Albert Wesker, we were unable to completely re-create his formula. Killing Birkin off was the biggest mistake this company ever made. If he were alive today, your little organizations would have been crushed."

"Sounds like you were a real fan of his," Matt said, with a smile. "Wish I could say the same."

"No need to be sarcastic, Mr. Ryan. You were exposed to the third test series, the one that has thus far gotten the most results. We're getting very close to a breakthrough. All we need now is the Source, in order to finish calibrating the virus's genetic sequence."

"Source?" Matt asked.

"Something your friend John neglected to tell you, I gather. Well, it won't hurt anything to tell you the truth. The Source, as we have referred to her, is the last piece of the puzzle we need to complete the HEV. She was exposed to the Mother Virus before birth, and her genetic code was restructured almost from the ground up by it. In a way, the HEV was Birkin's attempt to re-create what came naturally to her," O'Brien said.

"You experimented on a pregnant woman? Is there any morally outrageous crime Umbrella won't commit?" Matt asked.

"We didn't experiment on her, we saved her life. It was the 1970s; she had cancer, well into the terminal stage. She got it from exposure to a medical waste dump, or something along those lines. Dr. Trenton, he was one of our most promising researchers at the time, took pity on her, and included her in a test study of our first true virus. Unlike the variations that you're more familiar with, however, this strain seemed to help humans. Two weeks after initial exposure, her immune system began fighting back against the cancer cells, and winning. We were witnessing something incredible. The virus wasn't mutating her cells; it was causing cellular evolution," O'Brien said.

"Then what happened?" Matt asked. All of this was news to him.

"The senior partners in the company learned about Trenton's work. To people like them, you and me, the military applications of the virus are clear. Imagine a country having soldiers who, no matter how severe their injuries, will be fully healed in a matter of hours. A country able to have a single vaccine that is one-hundred percent effective against every form of biological and chemical weaponry on the face of the Earth, etcetera," O'Brien replied, with a smile.

"It's a big leap, going from making something that helps people, to something that slaughters them. What happened?" Matt shot back scornfully.

"You know what they say, Matt. 'Power corrupts.' Umbrella had just been handed on a silver platter a technological advancement that rivaled America's development of the atomic bomb in World War II. What would you do if you had a weapon that could give you instant, uncontestable military superiority over every nation on the planet? Trenton wanted his creation to be distributed globally, to eradicate every disease in the world. And it would've done it too," O'Brien said. "But that would've been bad for business. Pharmaceutical companies usually don't profit when there's no more need for their products."

"So Umbrella moved against Trenton," Matt finished. "You sacrificed millions of people, for money? How could you even begin to justify that? The millions of people who have died from diseases since then? The millions more who have died in your struggle to keep your viruses hidden from the public? Is there any price in lives you aren't willing to pay for money?"

"I'm not paid to advise this company about morals; I'm paid to defend it from its enemies. Dr. Trenton became an enemy. He threatened to go public with his vaccine, and reveal our work on militarizing it. We gave him an ultimatum; be quiet, or die," O'Brien replied, dodging Matt's questions.

"He wouldn't give in, so you had him killed," Matt said. O'Brien nodded, looking relatively pleased.

"Would you have expected anything less? Of course, his wife, who had come up with a majority of the theoretical work, had to go also, along with Trenton's research staff. A small price to pay to ensure Umbrella's secret remained safe," O'Brien stated coldly.

"Jesus. You had the man killed, along with his wife and his entire research team. Why not just execute everyone who had ever met him while you were at it?" Matt asked, disgustedly. It seemed like every day he fought this war, another horrific revelation about Umbrella would pop up, dwarfing every other blemish on the company's record up to that point.

"Touché, Mr. Ryan. I have to admit that I haven't always agreed with Umbrella's policies, but we have gotten results. The company takes in hundreds of billions of dollars in profits every year, more than any company in history. We have the ability to topple the most stable, most powerful government on Earth, as you have obviously seen. And now, we are within moments of eliminating the final scraps of organized resistance against us. Why don't we let history judge who was right," O'Brien stated, before pulling back the slide on his MP5. Suddenly, gunfire erupted outside of the lab's door.

"No!" O'Brien shouted, as screams of pain echoed from the hallway.

"I guess that was your back-up team," Matt said. "You forgot that I still have some of the more beneficial side-effects from the HEV. I doubt they could've killed me, anyway. Score eight for the SOC."

"It doesn't matter anymore. You'll be dead before sunrise, along with every other member of your pathetic group. Go ahead, kill me if you can!" O'Brien said, pulling the trigger on his sub machinegun. Matt dove to the side, narrowly avoiding the stream of 9mm bullets, and hoping that O'Brien would run out of ammo before he ran out of room to maneuver. O'Brien's MP5 suddenly clicked, with a shell caught in the chamber.

"Sucks to be you," Matt muttered, striding towards O'Brien, who was hurriedly trying to clear the jam. Matt reached out, tore the weapon from O'Brien's hands, and bent the barrel into a ninety degree angle.

"Go ahead and kill me," O'Brien said. "You can't stop Umbrella."

Matt slowly drew his Berretta, leveling it at O'Brien's forehead.

"You don't deserve such a good death," Matt said, pulling the slide back with his left hand, while slowly increasing pressure on the trigger. "But no matter which way you go out, you're still going to the same afterlife. Bon voyage," he stated simply. Just before he pulled the trigger, the building rocked due to a nearby explosion. A section of the ceiling broke free over Matt's head, causing him to dive backwards. This gave O'Brien the time he needed to escape. He charged out through a door in the rear of the lab, while the debris from the ceiling prevented Matt from following.

Matt ejected the clip from his pistol, sliding his last full magazine into the weapon, furious that O'Brien had escaped. Even though his actions had ensured that the SOC prisoners would be able to at least have a fighting chance at taking Umbrella's detention center, knowing that Umbrella had massive reinforcements inbound made his small victory hollow, to say the least. Not to mention the fact that he was going to die in a few hours, and the man he had targeted for at least a sliver of vengeance had escaped him.

"Matt, is that you?" A voice at the door called. Matt looked up, to see Greg carefully sweeping the lab with a P-90. Judging it to be clear, he slowly stepped into the room. "What happened here?" he asked.

"Greg, stay away from me," Matt replied. "They gave me some sort of virus; it's a new one. Our vaccine doesn't work against it, and it's airborne to boot. I only have a little while left before I become contagious."

"No," Greg said in stunned disbelief. "There has to be some anti-virus, something we can use."

"I already checked all of their files. They designed this thing to be irreversible. Umbrella's trying to perfect a human-enhancing virus. But that's not the worst news I have for you. O'Brien, Umbrella's security chief here, called for reinforcements before he escaped. They're already on the way here. Ian brought the cavalry here to rescue us, but he's been drawn right into a trap. I need you to figure out some way to warn them, before it's too late. Consider it my last order," Matt said, before slowly walking towards the door.

"Where are you going?" Greg asked.

"I have to make sure this virus doesn't get out. I'm sorry Greg. Good luck," Matt said, before charging out the door, and towards a staircase at the end of the hallway. He shot up the stairs as fast as he could, knowing there would be only one way to stop the virus from becoming contagious. Killing the host.

"Come on, let's move!" Mark yelled, as a dozen SOC soldiers charged through the smoldering remains of the main building's front door. "Go!" he shouted, clearly frustrated. His best friend, along with at least a dozen other SOC prisoners, were in here somewhere. He heard an MP5 let loose on full-auto somewhere up ahead, and started heading in the general direction of the sound, motioning for two teams to back him up.

He rounded a corner in the hallway just in time to see the door of the staircase exit at the end of the corridor swing shut. Standing in a doorway along the hall looking dazed was none other than Greg.

"God, it's good to see you again Greg," Mark said, wrapping up his friend in a bear hug. "How did you guys get out?" he asked, noticing that Greg was armed

"It's a long story that I'll have plenty of time to tell later. But if we don't move right now, it might be too late to save Matt. Follow me," he said, taking off down the hallway towards the stairs, running as fast as he could. "And tell Ian that this is a trap. Spencer has reinforcements coming in right now!" he yelled back down the corridor, as Mark tore after him, trying to keep up.

'So, this is how it ends,' Matt thought, staring into the room-sized incinerator that was used to deal with any waste products generated by Umbrella's facility. From the airborne virus test subjects that Jason Casey had written about in his report to food waste to basically anything that was ready to be discarded, this machine was capable of handling it all. 'Add to that list one member of the Special Operations Command,' Matt thought to himself, preparing to activate the timer on the device. With his enhanced speed, he reasoned that he would be able to dive into the incinerator before the doors slammed shut, allowing him to kill the virus in his bloodstream before it infected anyone else.

"Matt!" he heard Mark yell from somewhere else in the building. He turned his head slightly, wishing to see his friends one last time. He noticed a pile of scrap papers on the ground, along with a nearly-dead but still usable ball-point pen. 'At least I can leave them a final message,' Matt thought, before considering what to say.

"To my dearest friends," Matt read aloud as he wrote. "I'm sorry that I can't be with you in this dark hour, but know that I will be watching over you no matter what. I couldn't bring myself to say good-bye in person. I wouldn't have been able to do what needed to be done if I had. Whatever virus Umbrella gave me is terminal, and acting even faster than they anticipated. Even if I hadn't done this, I know I wouldn't have had more than an hour or two left, at most. I couldn't take the risk of infecting all of you, the last hope for stopping Umbrella."

"As a last will and testament, I leave all of my remaining possessions to my fiancée Melissa. Honey, I'm so sorry that things worked out this way. I wish there was something that I could say that would make this easier for you, but I know that nothing I can say will make things any better for you. Stay close to Ian, Mark, Paul and everyone else in the SOC and the S.T.A.R.S. They'll need your inside knowledge of Umbrella and their viral weapons in the struggle ahead, and they'll take care of you after I'm gone."

"There's so much more that I wish I could say to all of you before my time is up, but I just don't know how to put down all of the thoughts in my head. So I'll close this last letter on an optimistic note. Even though I won't be there to share it, I know that you will triumph over Umbrella. Stay faithful to each other, watch out for each other, and never lose hope that things will work out in the end. I'll always be with you in spirit. Matt."

With that, he placed the letter on the ground at the door to the incinerator room, where he knew it would be easily spotted. He dashed over to the incinerator timer and set it for ten seconds, before preparing to dive into it. Just as he tensed up to make his leap, a shadow passed in front of the room's door.

"Matt! No!" Mark shouted, as Matt dove into the incinerator. The machine activated just as the door slid closed behind Matt's feet, erasing all evidence of any occupants.

Location Unknown

Date and Time Unknown

The first thing that Matt was aware of was the cold. As he moved his head slowly from side to side testing his muscles, he realized that he couldn't see. After a few seconds, his eyesight began to return, as Matt realized that he was somehow floating in a seated position thousands of feet above the ground. It was then that he became of both a stinging sensation in his left arm, and the fact that wherever he was, he was definitely not alone. Matt tried to use his arms to lift himself into a standing position as he turned to address his companion.

"I'm dead, aren't I?" Matt asked, as his friend John sat down next to him, placing a firm hand on his shoulder to keep him from moving.

"First off, you don't want to be standing up right now," John said, with a small smile. "To answer your question, well, you did jump into an incinerator right before it activated. What do you think?"

"Where are we?" Matt asked, wanting to change the subject. He gestured around him to indicate that he meant their current position above the ground.

"If you look down there," John began, tightening his grip on Matt's shoulder slightly as Matt leaned forward to look, "You'll see a cluster of very-familiar looking buildings.

"That's Umbrella's prison complex," Matt said, squinting to make out the buildings, before realizing that his vision wasn't nearly as sharp as it had been. It felt like mere minutes earlier that he had all of his enhanced senses. "What happened to me?"

John smiled, before holding up something that looked vaguely like a cross between a syringe and a pistol. "Injector gun," he said. "That's what's causing the pain in your shoulder. Had to get the anti-virus in you before it was too late."

"How did you know? Stupid question, I know," Matt replied. "You've always been at least three steps ahead of everything in this war. Wait a minute," he added. "If I'm dead, how can I feel pain?"

"Very good, Matt. You figured it out sooner than I thought you would. To answer your first question, unfortunately, we've just about lost our edge in this war," John said sadly, losing the smile. "Events are, to put it bluntly, spinning out of control."

"So go back and fix whatever you have to. Get back in control," Matt replied.

"There's nothing to fix. As bad as things have been over the last few months, the alternatives have all been worse."

"I don't believe that. You can't honestly say that losing the U.S., the SOC Headquarters and Alpha Site, and all of the people who have died because of Umbrella were necessary," Matt answered, shocked.

"You don't want to know how much worse things would have been if events hadn't played out this way. I'm talking about end of the world worse, just to clarify," John said. "That's where this is going to end up if we can't stop Umbrella."

"What do you mean, if?" Matt asked. "Don't you know everything that's going to happen?"

"I'm trying to figure out a way to explain this to you so you'll be able to understand. The only thing I've come up with is to tell you the whole truth, all the way from the beginning," John said. "No more secrets, nothing held back. I promise."

"Go on," Matt said.

"You aren't going to like what you're going to hear," John warned. "Basically, in order to stop Umbrella from winning, we had to give away our principle advantage; knowledge of the future. We had to introduce variables into your conflict with Umbrella, for lack of a better term. Laying the ground work for advanced weapons systems like your Archangel railgun and the F-1100 in the proper places, getting the SOC deployed to Afghanistan in the first place, etcetera, etcetera. Because of these changes, the war against Umbrella has become too muddled for us to be able to predict its outcome. That's one of the reasons why we have people on the ground now."

"What other reasons are there?" Matt asked.

"I'm going to have to start at the very beginning of this story in order for it to make any sense. My people originally found your Earth about a hundred years ago, after a pretty nasty war with one of our neighbors. The ones who were attacking us a few months ago, in fact. That's a story you don't really need to hear about right now."

"Anyway, by the time the 1960s rolled around, we were preparing to offer your Earth a provisional membership in our Alliance. You met all of the requirements we had established thousands of years ago; successful space travel, a basic form of world government, and a handful of other criteria. In 1967, during a closed-door session at the UN, we made our offer. In return for accepting, we had on hand literally hundreds of billions of dollars worth of advanced technology and humanitarian aid ready for delivery. Only one item on that list concerns this discussion."

"The Source," Matt interrupted. "You supplied the original virus to us."

"Something like that. Now it was only distributed to one handpicked scientist, but that didn't stop word of our contributions from leaking."

"Trenton. You gave Trenton the groundwork he needed to produce his virus. I'm guessing it was for the purpose Trenton intended to use it for; to help people," Matt said, interrupting again.

"Correct. We never expected Trenton to report his work on the virus to Umbrella, or for Umbrella to act against him. It was our gravest mistake; miscalculating the motivating power of greed. Trenton and everyone connected to the project were killed and the basic data seized by Umbrella. They didn't get what they had wanted; Trenton's research on the human-enhancement form of the virus. What they got was something much worse."

"What?" Matt asked.

"You see, Trenton never thought to ask how we managed to acquire the virus. Or why we took so many precautions with handling it, and distributing information about it. We knew all too well about the dark side of the original virus, of which Umbrella's T- and G- series are just the tip of the iceberg. We handed Umbrella the weapon that had nearly destroyed our people, on a silver platter."

And that's a wrap! I know it's been a really, really long time since I've updated, but I've had a lot of things working against me lately. I don't want to waste your time by elaborating, but let's just say that the college search process sucks.

Anyway, I'm sure everyone was more than a little confused by the ending (part of the whole envisioning this sort of like a TV show, as well as having a little rust from not writing in so long factored in here to make it not as good as I had hoped it would be). So I'm going to give a quick summary of the last three pages, to clear up any confusion.

Matt is somehow suspended in the air thousands of feet above Umbrella's detention center (hint: think about what sort of vehicles are available to the Alliance). He knows that he is somehow still alive, but not much more than that. With him is John, who is explaining the Alliance's real role in the current crisis with Umbrella. Basically, it boils down to this.

The Alliance supplied the original virus to Trenton, so he could create his dream vaccine, which would be capable of curing any illness and healing any injuries. Umbrella decides to shut Trenton down before he can go public, and learns that there's a dark side to this gift given to Trenton by the Alliance. Something so powerful that it nearly destroyed their entire race. Something that makes the T- and G-Viruses look like the common cold in comparison.

Yes, I'm laying the ground work for O: FS 2K2 (especially with the mention of the Source), so the next chapters will help to clarify a lot of the stuff that I mentioned here. As well as pick back up with the action.

By the way, I know that I named this chapter 'Revolution,' even though nothing along those lines actually happened. While I was writing this, it became clear that this chapter would be too big if I put in everything that I wanted to. So the next chapter will actually be, well, that would be spoiling. So I'll just skip ahead to the Coming Attractions.

Next Chapter: The conclusion of this cliffhanger. As Matt learns Umbrella is potentially in possession of a weapon that dwarfs any of their other viruses, the SOC and S.T.A.R.S. must fight for their lives against a determined counter-attack by Spencer's reinforcements. The fate of the rebellion against Evans and Spencer hangs in the balance in Chapter Eighteen: A New Beginning


	18. A New Beginning

Disclaimer: Anything and everything that I invent for the purpose of enhancing the quality of this story is mine. Anything that isn't mine belongs to their legal owners.

Author's Notes: Just a quick update here, since I want to get right into the action. This will be the continuation of last chapter, which will be where the name 'Revolution' from last chapter actually comes in. So, dear readers, I invite you all to scroll down just a little bit, and start digging into my next colossal update.

One quick note though. In this chapter, especially the beginning, I'm going to have several characters describe personnel loyal to President Evans or Andrew Spencer as belonging to the same category. For all intents and purposes, forces commanded by one of them can also be considered available to the other for use in the field. For the time being (ponder that one all you like).

Operation: Falling S.T.A.R.S.

Chapter Eighteen: A New Beginning

Somewhere in Montana

November 17, 2001 11:53 PM

"Why? Why would you let Umbrella have those viruses, especially if they're as powerful as you're suggesting. Why not just send people in to take the samples back? Forget that. Why didn't you just bomb their facilities from orbit, wipe out everything altogether?" Matt asked.

"I already told you, we never thought Umbrella would be able to reverse-engineer the Source virus. At least for the foreseeable future," John replied, looking down at the Umbrella base beneath them. "To be honest with you, we weren't expecting them to even have the T-virus for another fifteen years, minimum. We'd barely begun stockpiling weapons and equipment, and I'd better stop there before I tip my hand any farther," John said with a smile.

"You won't tell me what you're talking about even if I ask, so I'm not going to bother," Matt replied. "What happens now?"

"In about a half-minute, Umbrella's reaction force is going to roll in. Then, things are going to get interesting," John replied.

"We need to help them. I can fight, and you could probably stop the whole attack by yourself," Matt said, looking around for a weapon he could use.

"No, we don't. I appreciate the flattery, but neither you or I are going to stop this attack from happening. I need to get you to a very important meeting near Seattle, which may well determine the fate of Earth," John answered.

"What do you mean we aren't going to help them?" Matt asked, stunned. If they didn't do something, the SOC and S.T.A.R.S. below would be slaughtered. "And what meeting? With who?"

"The President, and the handful of top military personnel who are either still loyal to him, or are at least willing to meet with him. We're going to have a nice, little discussion about who to focus our military efforts on first; Umbrella or Evans. Along with some other side details, like how to incorporate the SOC and S.T.A.R.S. into our efforts to win this war," John stated simply. As he finished, a series of flashes near the horizon caught Matt's attention. "They're a little late," John added, glancing down at a watch strapped to his left wrist.

"Umbrella?" Matt asked, realizing that the flashes were from artillery pieces firing against the facility as John nodded yes in answer to his question. A series of explosions erupted on the facility's grounds as the shells dropped on their target. "John, we have to do something, or they'll all be killed." As he said this, he looked down again to see vehicles moving through the woods beneath them, towards the facility.

"Eighteen M1A2 Abrams tanks and fifteen M2A3 Bradley APCs," John said, answering Matt's next question. "And I told you, you and I aren't going to do anything to stop this. Why don't you just sit back, have a little faith that things will work out, and enjoy the show?" Matt was horrified by his friend's apparent apathy. Just as he was about to open his mouth to protest, a pair of missiles streaked by less than fifty feet below them, arcing towards the artillery. Matt sat there with his mouth still hanging open as another pair of missiles quickly followed, with a pair of F-15 Eagles right behind. John sat there, smiling.

"You didn't think that after everything that's happened, I would just let the SOC and S.T.A.R.S. die, did you?" He asked, as the fighters continued forward, dropping cluster bombs on the surviving artillery pieces. Matt looked back towards the armor column cutting through the forest in time to see a string of flashes erupt about a mile and a half in front of them. "You wouldn't believe how hard it was to find a way to get armor and soldiers dug in near the facility without either Umbrella or Evans finding out. By the way, the 24th Infantry Division sends its regards."

"You planned all of this. Amazing," was all Matt could say as he watched the battle, for lack of a better term, unfold beneath him. The Eagles stayed on station for a few more minutes, mainly to keep an eye out for any approaching enemy aircraft, it seemed. Meanwhile, the allied ground forces swept forward, coming out of their defensive works and sweeping the burning remains of Umbrella's quick reaction force. A pair of APCs departed the lines, heading towards the facility at a cautious pace. Matt was sure that they were on the radio trying to reach the SOC and let them know that it was safe to come out.

"Told you this would work out alright. Now we have a meeting to attend," John said. "But first, we have to make a detour to Minnesota."

"What's in Minnesota?" Matt asked, confused.

"The Raccoon S.T.A.R.S. While you made your appearance at the meeting between the SOC, S.T.A.R.S., and a half-dozen low level members of the U.S. military, the Raccoon S.T.A.R.S. were making a very public diversion, in order to draw off Umbrella and Evans. That's why they weren't at the meeting, and why you couldn't find your third target, Chris Redfield. Evans and Umbrella diverted two companies of troops, allowing the meeting to happen in the first place. We've had them under satellite surveillance for the past twelve hours. Needless to say they need our help," John replied.

"Our?" Matt asked. John gestured over his shoulder, to whatever was behind them. He half expected to see nothing but thin air. He was shocked however to see at least sixty heavily armed soldiers, all wearing woodland camouflage, full body armor and helmets with face shields. Matt looked around some more, and realized that contrary to his earlier belief that he was floating in thin air, he was actually sitting on the exit ramp of a ship hovering above the Umbrella facility. The interior and the exterior that he was able to see was a bright, golden color, with four rows of seats on the inside. Two ran lengthwise along the walls of the ship facing the center of it, while the second pair was set up back to back through the middle, with both rows facing the walls of the ship.

"May I introduce the Jumper-class infantry dropship," John replied. "We call it the Jumper because it's capable of faster-than-light travel, to answer your question. Now I don't want to keep the S.T.A.R.S. waiting any longer than I have to. Major," he called, facing towards the cockpit of the ship, "Minnesota, if you please."

Matt took one last look at the scenes arrayed below and around him, before the world went dark again.

Umbrella Main Offices

Paris, France

November 18, 2001 5:38 AM

Andrew Spencer had no idea what was going on as he arrived at his office, expecting to hear that the SOC and S.T.A.R.S. had been crushed. He had been on a non-stop flight across the Atlantic in order to get back to Paris as soon as possible, and no one on the plane had thought to bring a phone or some other form of communication with the outside world. Not wanting to bother the pilots, and feeling the weight of several days with very little sleep bearing down on him, Spencer had elected to sleep through most of the flight back home. He would soon regret that decision.

"Would someone please tell me what's happened in the last six and a half hours to send all of you into a panic?" he asked as he strode out of his private elevator and on to the administrative level of the building. People were scurrying everywhere as Spencer said this, not wanting to make eye contact, hoping to avoid his attention and more likely, his wrath. "I will not repeat myself. If my question is not answered in the next ten seconds, you will all be liquidated," Spencer growled. This caught the attention of everyone in the room. One of his executive assistants quickly spoke up, saving everyone from an untimely demise.

"Lord Spencer, as you surely know the S.T.A.R.S. and their allies, the SOC raided our Pegasus facility shortly after you departed. Security Chief O'Brien ordered in the quick reaction force, and had our enemies pinned between the guards in the facility and them," he began as Spencer cut him off.

"Yes, yes, I know that. What went wrong?"

"We detected two internal explosions from an overhead satellite, which we presume occurred in the main building's armory. With a majority of the guards in the complex either dead or unarmed, the SOC managed to get in, and establish themselves in the building before the QRF arrived. Immediately afterward, elements of the United States military engaged the QRF, and wiped it out. Only a handful of survivors, including Chief O'Brien, made it to an extraction point and were able to call for rescue."

"Tell me that we were able to run them down and slaughter them all," Spencer growled. He was already suffering from jet lag, and the bad news had made his terrible mood even worse.

"They've completely fallen off our scopes. By the time anyone could get there, the ground personnel were long gone, and the aircraft were too. I'm sorry, sir," the aide said, fearing for his life. The look in Spencer's eyes gave him cause for such fear.

"They had aircraft too? And we couldn't track them? Idiots!" he roared. "I want O'Brien brought before me at once. His failure must be dealt with. Is there any good news that will convince me to spare your miserable lives?"

"Our forces were able to track down the Raccoon S.T.A.R.S. sir. It turns out that they were in fact some sort of diversion, intended to draw our forces away from the meeting that we sent Ryan to. We have two companies of personnel in close contact with them as we speak. They're pinned down on open terrain, with no assistance within three hundred miles. They'll be dead within the quarter hour," the aide replied, glad to have at least something good to tell Spencer. He had no wish to die on this day.

"Excellent. The loss of the Raccoon S.T.A.R.S. will destabilize the remaining renegades from that unit. They may even split off, or throw in the towel all together. They were the glue that held those pigs together; without them, they should fall apart after losing their most experienced, most dedicated personnel."

Spencer paused for a moment before continuing. "I know the HEV test we conducted on Ryan was a failure. Would you care to enlighten me as to how this could happen?"

"Sir, Birkin's formula for that virus was known to only one person in the world, and he was vaporized in Raccoon City. We don't have the capability to duplicate his work. We're close, and the sample we acquired from Wesker should have done the trick, but there was a problem. Birkin designed it so that the virus would be genetically tailored to the person that it was infected with. It won't take in anyone else exposed to it, or more likely they'll devolve to the level of a normal T-carrier. I sent a man to the archives to see if they could find any of his original notes, maybe showing how he went about tailoring the virus so we could figure out how to undo it."

"Anything you need, just ask me for it. The HEV project is now our top priority. Any news from our Islamic friends, by the way?" Spencer asked, remembering the special project he had sent Tom Walker on.

"Any day now, sir. They're going to hit New York City from the air, as far as I can tell. We arranged for five small one-engine planes equipped with chemical sprayers to be stationed at an airport a few miles outside the city. All of our essential personnel have already been given the evacuation notice. Everyone else is expendable," the aide answered.

"Good. Has President Evans been informed of the strike?" Spencer asked. This was a crucial aspect of the attack, as far as he was concerned.

"No sir, as per your orders. He has no idea what's coming."

"Excellent. This will serve to remind him who is really in control of the United States, and who's calling the shots there. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to get into contact with Mr. Walker and give him another assignment. One that may be of the utmost importance in the next few months."

Western Minnesota

November 18, 2001 5:42 AM

Chris Redfield frowned as the sky continued getting lighter in the moment leading up to dawn. It was just bright enough out for him to see the men and machines that were encircling their position, about three miles away, through the binoculars he was holding up to his face. It was clear to see that they were preparing for their final assault. 'So this is what Matt Ryan must have felt like when Umbrella raided the Alpha Site,' he thought to himself. He had been out of contact with the rest of the S.T.A.R.S. since they had split off almost a week earlier, in order to avoid having either Umbrella or President Evans home in on the signals, and strike the conference that Chris was sure had ended by now.

"I hope whatever happened at that meeting was worth it," Barry said as he walked up to his old friend. He too had a pair of binoculars, and used them to scan the imposing line of armored vehicles and infantry that was preparing to advance.

"So do I Barry. But on the bright side, at least our losses will have been for something meaningful. If the other S.T.A.R.S., the SOC and the military can come to some sort of agreement, we won't have thrown our lives away for nothing. Eight lives potentially in exchange for a whole nation. That's a pretty good exchange if I ever heard one," Chris replied sadly. He was ready, but it was a shame to have made it so far only to lose to Umbrella now.

"You can say that again," Chris heard, as he turned to see Jill Valentine walk up to him. "I know the others won't let us down." Chris put his arm around her, and smiled softly.

"Here they come," Barry said, as the array of forces in front of them began moving out. They were proceeding carefully, checking for minefields that Chris had never had time to set up, and searching for ambushes that he didn't have the manpower to conduct. It would all be over in a matter of minutes.

"All right everyone," Chris called, as the handful of people who had survived everything Umbrella had thrown at them for three years looked up at him. "Let's make sure to give these guys a warm welcome. Jill, Leon, you're with me on the rocket launchers. Let's try to take out some of those tanks, and slow down their armor. Barry, Carlos and Claire, get on the machine guns and keep those ground pounders' heads down. Rebecca, stay on hand in case anyone is hit. Ark, I hope you know how to handle a .50 caliber sniper rifle." Ark nodded with a smile, before everyone disbursed to carry out their last assignments. Chris was sure that there would be no quarter given on the part of Umbrella's personnel.

(Scene change)

Captain Erin Jones was ecstatic. They had been stalking the traitorous S.T.A.R.S. for the past three days, under orders to shadow them but not engage. The thought at command had been that they would lead their armored unit back to wherever the renegades' headquarters was, allowing them to take out all of their opposition in one fell swoop. Obviously, that hadn't happened. So he and the two short mechanized companies he commanded were stuck waiting for orders to do something, which had finally just come in.

They had just received intelligence indicating that the S.T.A.R.S. unit they were tracking was a diversionary force, leading them away from the actual enemy headquarters. A majority of his platoon leaders were frustrated, since they were hoping to take down the entire rebel force before they could scatter again or persuade some of their less-intelligent contemporaries in the military to aid their cause. Until Jones told them that they were going to be able to take down their targets, and eliminate the leadership of the S.T.A.R.S.

This would be a blow almost as heavy as wiping out all of their enemies in one fell swoop. With their leadership gone, command believed that the S.T.A.R.S. would fracture, with no one left to hold them together and unify them into the deadly fighting force they had become. Also, by proving that not even the top leadership of the rebels was safe from the reach of President Evans, it was hoped that the military units sitting on the fence, unsure of whether to join the traitors would see that resistance would be met with death, delivered quickly and in overwhelming force, and fall back into line.

"By platoon, Third Company, advance. Fourth Company, initiate flanking maneuvers, and deploy infantry to sweep for ambushes," Jones called into the radio attached to his helmet, as he closed the hatch on his Abrams tank. His loader had already placed a HEAT round, or High Explosive Anti-Tank, into the breach of his main gun. These were much more effective against infantry, which his opposition was composed of, than his other type of primary ammunition, sabots. After completing his task, he stood up to man the heavy machine gun outside his hatch, trusting that they would only need one main gun shot, if that. The only possible use for that round would be to break up a heavily entrenched position, which no one believed the S.T.A.R.S. had had the chance to create. Still, it never hurt to be prepared.

The only problem that Jones could see with their attack was that his troops were advancing towards the east, right into the rising sun. While it wouldn't be a problem for the digital sensors on his tanks, his infantry would have a great deal of trouble seeing, and he wouldn't be able to detect aerial targets very easily. 'That doesn't matter too much,' he thought with a smile, 'It's not like they have any planes or helicopters to throw at us. Besides, they're deployed with their backs to a sheer cliff face. They have nowhere to run to.'

(Scene Change)

"The lead tank is in range," Leon spoke calmly into his handheld radio, adjusting the laser sight on his TOW rocket launcher again. He was thankful that they had been able to get some heavy weapons, especially heavy antitank weapons, before they split off from the others. Nothing quite like one of the SOC's Archangel railguns, of which only two existed. One was in the hands of Umbrella according to the rumor he had heard, and one was being used by the SOC's assassin to knock off high ranking members of the Evans Administration. Other than Chris, they hadn't been told her name; that information was reserved only for the ranking members of the SOC. Somehow Chris knew her, though. That much was evident whenever someone mentioned something that she had done, when he was in earshot. The way he would just stare off into space as if remembering something from his past was impossible to miss.

"Take the shot," Chris replied, sighting in on another tank. They were hoping to stall the attack by forcing Evan's commander to deploy his infantry to flush out the antitank positions. With the infantry in the open, they would be vulnerable to Chris' heavy machine guns and Ark, with his sniper rifle. Since there weren't any vehicles around that were light enough for the huge .50 caliber rifle to even scratch, Ark would be gunning for enemy officers. Chris hoped that the sight of their leadership being obliterated from the massive .50 cal. bullets would be enough to cause the infantry attack to falter.

The TOW rocket shot downrange with long coils of wire unstringing behind it, allowing Leon to guide the missile into its target. It impacted against the front armor of an Abrams tank with enough force to almost halt its forward momentum. For a second, Leon held out the hope that he'd been able to knock out the tank. Once the tank's turret began traversing however, searching for their assailant, Leon knew he hadn't done enough damage. Deep down, he knew there was no way a TOW would be able to penetrate the front armor of the tank, which was the thickest, but he was still hoping to land a lucky hit.

'If only we had some of those smart warheads that explode just above the tank,' he thought to himself. 'They've got next to no armor up there. It'd be cake to take those things down. Instead, we're out here throwing rocks at them, for all the good these TOWs are doing us.'

"Chris, my target is still active. Blew a big chunk out of its armor, but not enough," he called into the radio, before looking up. "Oh, crap," he muttered, as he realized that the main gun of his target Abrams was pointed right at him. Suddenly, the vehicle exploded.

"Leon, pull back," Chris said. Leon looked over to see him reloading his launcher, and realized that instead of firing at his tank, Chris had taken down Leon's target with a well-placed shot that managed to penetrate the seal between the tank's turret and the rest of its body.

"Copy that," Leon called. He rose into a crouch and moved backwards as fast as he could, leaving the rocket launcher behind. There was another one at the fallback point, and another point and launcher beyond that one. And after that, then things would get interesting.

(Scene Change)

Captain Jones muttered a curse as his lead tank exploded after being hit with a pair of antitank rockets. Their intelligence briefing hadn't mentioned anything at all about the S.T.A.R.S. being so heavily armed. Just as he was about to mutter another string of curses however, his thermal sights swept across the outline of a hunched over person running away from his tanks.

"Target," he called out, indicating that he wanted his gunner to fire on the man running from them.

"Engaging with my MG," the gunner replied, indicating he would fire at the man with the tank turret's coaxial machine gun.

"Negative," Jones replied with a smile. "Give him a HEAT round. I don't want enough to be left of that scum to be able to fit in a shoe box."

"Recomputing range," the gunner replied calmly. "Target locked. HEAT on the way!" he yelled, as the tank was rocked backwards due to the heavy recoil of its main gun. The ground around the running man exploded into a cloud of dust, dirt and debris, which along with the heat generated by the exploding shell prevented Jones from seeing the result of his shot.

"Miss, overshoot," the gunner replied as the dust began to clear. Apparently, whoever the man was had managed to hit the ground just before the shell impacted, causing it to hit the ground just far enough away from him to avoid killing him.

"Loader, another HEAT. Gunner, don't miss this time," Jones said, as both crew members confirmed his orders. Though he was angry at the gunner's mistake, all it meant was that their target would have another few seconds left to live. In the grand scheme of things, that wasn't important at all.

(Scene Change)

Chris screamed a string of obscenities as he slowly picked himself up off the ground. He had tripped over a tree root as he approached his first fallback point, which had inadvertently saved his life. A main gun shot from one of the Abrams tanks sailed just over his head, exploding a few yards beyond where he was heading; a shallow foxhole with another rocket launcher. Chris dove into the hole and grabbed the launcher, praying that he would be able to fire at the tank before it killed him.

He brought the weapon up to his shoulder, peeked over the lip of the foxhole, and saw the offending tank less than a mile away. Its turret was already pointing at him, and Chris was sure that this time it wouldn't miss. He squeezed the trigger on his launcher, expecting a hail of machine gun fire from the tank, since it had missed with its main gun. But obviously whoever the tank commander was, he was too arrogant to use the numerous machine guns on his vehicle, and was therefore forced to wait until his main gun was reloaded. Something that Chris knew would happen any second, and something that would most likely mean the end of his life. As his rocket streaked towards his target, several clouds of dust suddenly kicked up around him, causing Chris to flinch and nearly send the rocket off course. Another tank was firing at him, this one using its machine guns. Even if he destroyed the first tank with his rocket, he would be dead before he could reload, and the machine gun fire kept him boxed in and prevented him from leaving the foxhole. It would only be a matter of seconds before more main gun shots began landing on his position, and his foxhole wasn't nearly deep enough to allow him to survive even a single near miss.

'This is the end,' he thought, as he watched his rocket impact the tank. He watched with some satisfaction as a plume of smoke erupted around the tank, making him think that he'd managed to take at least one more crew of Spencer's minions with him. Until the tank rolled out of the smoke cloud, with horrendous damage but still intact. The tank commander had managed to fire off several smoke grenades just before the rocket impacted, not only causing Chris' rocket to just miss landing a fatal hit, but preventing the vehicle from being targeted by the other S.T.A.R.S. The other tanks then paused their firing, allowing the damaged vehicle, who Christ figured must belong to their commander, to land the killing blow.

Chris stood up slowly, knowing that he was about to die, and smiled. He would die like a man, facing his enemies rather than cowering in a hole and waiting to be skewered by shrapnel or incinerated by a direct hit from a main gun round.

"Come on!" he yelled.

(Scene Change)

Jones smiled as his target inexplicably stood up, giving his gunner the perfect target for his next shot. He admired the man for attempting to destroy his tank, and almost succeeding. But in this instance, he was greatly outclassed, and apparently out of ammunition and places to run to. His other units reported pinning down the other members of the renegade S.T.A.R.S., though none of them had apparently given up the fight like this one had.

"Gunner, verify range to target. I don't want another miss," Jones said with a smile. 'This is perfect,' he thought to himself. 'After we wipe these dogs out, I'll probably get my own battalion!'

"Range verified. Ready to fire!" the gunner called, checking to make sure his crosshairs were on the ground just in front of the man, so he would still be hit with shrapnel even if the round fell a bit short. Suddenly, something shining near the top of the cliff caught his attention.

"Mother of God," he began, before their tank exploded.

(Scene Change)

Chris had no idea what was going on. He was ready to face death, knew that it was within seconds of taking him. All of the sudden, the tank that was supposed to kill him had exploded. Chris looked up and saw a very thin trail of blue-white rings dissipating in the early morning air. He immediately dropped to the ground, and rolled so that he could look behind him and see where the rings had come from. What he saw shocked him.

A pair of what looked like heavily modified Apache helicopters hovered just above the crest of the cliff, diving towards the armored vehicles facing the S.T.A.R.S. and firing railguns at them with a vengeance. Chris counted at least five tanks that were destroyed before anyone could react and try to engage. As the helicopters swept in low over Chris, he was shocked again as he looked into their cockpits.

'Empty?' he thought. 'What's going on here?'

Suddenly, a hissing sound erupted from somewhere in the Umbrella lines, as a pair of Stinger missiles rocketed up, searching for the Apaches. In no way were the Umbrella forces out of the fight yet. Both of the helicopters began dumping flares, hoping to throw off the missiles, and began evasive maneuvers. One Apache was successful and able to evade the missile that was targeted at it, which ran out of fuel and slammed into the ground before it could attempt to turn around and make another pass. The second Apache was unable to evade however, and began to smoke heavily after the Stinger targeted at it slammed into its underside. The helicopter slammed into the ground nose-first and exploded, which almost masked the sound of more rotors in the air. Chris looked back towards the cliff, and saw that at least a half-dozen Blackhawk helicopters were taking advantage of the distraction caused by the Apaches to sweep in no more than twenty feet above the ground. Chris watched as ropes began falling from the doors of the helicopters, and saw about a dozen men slide out of each. One Blackhawk pulled into a hover just a few yards behind him, close enough for him to look into the cockpit and see that this helicopter actually had a human being behind the controls. Heavily armed infantry quickly slid down the ropes and took up defensive positions, preparing to engage whoever built up the courage to come and attack. The last two men out of the helicopter, however, had no interest in taking cover.

"I wish I had these guys with me at the Alpha Site," Matt Ryan said with a smile, extending his hand to a stunned Chris. "Would've made holding down the fort a whole lot easier." As he finished that sentence, one of the soldiers that had arrived with him rose up to a knee, and fired a rocket downrange, before quickly firing another rocket at a separate target. Chris was puzzled since he hadn't seen the man reload at all, before noticing that there was actually a revolver-style three round magazine built into the launcher. The man fired one last shot before ducking down, and sliding fresh rockets into each of the three chambers. As Chris watched, each of the three shots homed in on their targets and detonated, killing the Umbrella tanks without any of the problems the S.T.A.R.S. had had with their TOW rockets. Considering the launcher and rockets were much smaller than the TOW, and Chris supposed must be much weaker, this was an incredible feat. Not to mention the fact that they were fire and forget, which indicated that they had to have a guidance system in each rocket, which would leave even less room for the tank-killing warhead.

"How did you get here? Who are these guys? And where did they get those weapons?" Chris asked, too stunned to think about anything else. The man accompanying Matt smiled, before extending his hand as well.

"Allow me to introduce myself," he said. "My name is John Davis."

The White House

Washington D.C.

November 18, 2001 7:12 AM

"Sir. . ." one of his aides began as President Evans strode into the Oval Office. He could already tell from the man's tone of voice that he was about to get bad news.

"What?" Evans asked, sitting down at his desk and preparing to hear the worst.

"The Minnesota Task Force has withdrawn after taking heavy losses. They report a negative on completing any of their objectives."

"How? They had less than a dozen people pinned down, armed with light weaponry, and our people were in tanks! How could they blow it?" Evans screamed, his face turning beat red. The last thing he needed now was another incompetent commander pulling out in the face of slight resistance. He was just getting over what had happened when he sent a loyalist National Guard unit into Kansas City, after all. The entire regiment was run out of the city by less than a hundred disorganized people, all armed with either shotguns, pistols or single shot hunting rifles.

"I know you're thinking of the Kansas City disaster, sir," the aide replied. "It's worse. Somehow the S.T.A.R.S. were able to bring some kind of advanced helicopters to the field, along with almost a hundred elite infantry without being detected at all. On the bright side, we did manage to shoot one of the helicopters down."

"Did we find anything useful in the wreck?" Evans asked. That the aide hesitated was all the answer he needed to hear, but the man actually did respond.

"No sir. Whoever has that helicopter in service, they knew enough to completely sterilize the wreck, most likely with a one kiloton nuclear warhead."

"They used a nuke on American soil? Why haven't I heard anything about radiation? And why did you send our people into a radiation field you moron!" Spencer screamed, practically bouncing off the walls now.

"There wasn't any radiation. Our people constantly tested and retested the atmosphere. Whatever it was, the weapon was completely clean. No radiation at all, and a fairly small blast crater which caused our specialist at the scene to call it low yield."

"If there wasn't any radiation, then it wasn't a nuke," Evans replied.

"Yes, it was sir," the aide answered, shocking Evans with his insubordination. "The device created an electromagnetic pulse when it detonated, almost fifteen miles in diameter. All of our surviving soldiers were caught in the blast, which is why it took so long for us to hear what happened. The only thing that could have produced those kinds of effects would be a fusion bomb, and no one on Earth has those."

"You're implying that the Earth Alliance routed two companies of armor and infantry, at the loss of just one helicopter? And that they freely deployed nuclear weapons on U.S. soil? Good God, that means they have people here on the ground! We need to get out of the city right now! They're coming for me!" Evans exclaimed, finally losing all semblance of control.

"Sir, pull yourself together. If they were coming for you, they would've been here already. I don't know what game they're playing, but they must not have enough people here to pull of whatever plans they have for us. So for the time being, we're safe. Now sir, there are more pressing matters to attend to," the aide answered. His speech seemed to calm down Evans, who regained his composure after a moment.

"Of course. I apologize for my outburst. Now have those reports on popular opinion that I requested come in yet?" he asked, as the aide handed over a sealed folder. Evans flipped it open and began reading highlights aloud.

"Approximately sixty five percent of the American people openly hostile to President Evans," he began, before skimming ahead a bit and skipping the parts of the report which dealt with the numerous causes people had to be dissatisfied with him. "Twenty percent are refusing to answer or claiming neutral feelings, while fifteen percent, just fifteen percent are more inclined to support me. Great," he concluded, flipping the folder onto his desk.

"We have complete control of the media. My PR staff is on the air every day telling these miserable people what I'm doing to make their lives better than they've ever been before, and the best I can do is get thirty five percent of the American people plus or minus eight percent!" he yelled, reading off the margin of error for the poll, "To either support me or not give an opinion on me. Would anyone care to explain how this could happen? Most of these people didn't even like Bush to begin with!"

"It's a matter of principle, sir. A majority of the American public, while not inclined to believe the claims of Bush's supporters that he was the victim of an Umbrella-backed coup, feel that your seizure of the top office along with your strong reluctance to release any evidence supporting claims of his corruption, are more of a power grab than something done in their best interests. In time, we predict that most of them will come around. Surely by the next Presidential election, the numbers will be reversed," the aide replied.

"You're saying that it will take me three years to get even half the country to support me, and that's barring any action from Bush, the SOC or S.T.A.R.S., the Alliance or renegades from the U.S. military. I bet you didn't see this yet," Evans said, sliding a letter across the desk for the aide to read. "The entire 24th Infantry Division has defected. You told me that they could be trusted."

"Sir, I have no idea how this happened. The commander of the division personally pledged his support to us. Maybe there was some mistake," the aide replied, reading the letter slowly. By the time he had finished, he knew he was wrong.

"My people are deserting me. Even Spencer isn't as willing to commit his personnel to help me anymore. What exactly do you propose that I do to correct this?" Evans asked, leaning forward in a way that indicated he may not have meant that phrase to be read as a question.

"It may be time to turn on Spencer, Mr. President," the aide replied slowly. "Give the American people a clear enemy to rally against. Use all of the evidence the SOC and S.T.A.R.S. had acquired to show that he's behind all of this, and make it seem like he was the puppet master behind Bush. We can make it look like it was our investigation that uncovered this information, and offer the SOC and S.T.A.R.S. an amnesty or something, discreetly of course. Then we can take care of any of them that turn themselves in, and make sure there are no loose ends to this mess."

"I like it. Get someone working on this right away. You just might save my presidency yet," Evans replied with a smile.

Outskirts of Seattle, Washington

November 18, 2001 8:15 AM

Matt looked out the door of their helicopter as it decelerated and began to descend, unsure of what to expect. He knew that wherever President Bush and as many top officers in the military as could be found were gathering, security would have to be tight. As the vehicle touched down, he was shocked to see that they had landed in a small field, with nothing as far as the eye could see around them.

"You might want to hang on to something," John suggested, as he slid his hand through a nylon handhold on the ceiling. Matt barely had enough time to mimic the maneuver before the helicopter began descending with a jolt. They were on a massive elevator, which was bringing them underground.

"This is one of several bases that we operate throughout the United States. It actually holds the distinction of being our West Coast Command Center, which makes it one of our more important facilities here on Earth," John said as the elevator kept dropping down. "It's large enough to accommodate an entire division of troops, vehicles, and a minimum of a wing of fighters. Obviously, I don't have nearly that amount of firepower with me or this war would've already been over," he added with a small laugh as the elevator finally stopped. John released his grip and stood up, walking out through the helicopter's door and into the base. Matt followed right behind him, and was stunned by what he saw.

A massive hanger facility sprawled out in front of him, with stacks of crates at least eight feet high scattered all over the place. He caught a glance of Chris Redfield and the other S.T.A.R.S. they had rescued similarly dazed, and being led through the mess. He could also see a handful of men and women, he guessed that they were part of John's command, walking through the stacks and apparently organizing them. Matt couldn't tell what criteria they were using for this process, and didn't have the time to ponder it as John drew his attention back to him.

"Sorry about the mess," he said, indicating the supplied scattered around the facility. "We just received a supply drop yesterday. That's where the stealth system for the dropship I used last night came from. You see, in order to get as many people here as I could, I had to travel light. Some of the equipment I needed was left here, I guess you could say in foresight, but a whole lot of it had to be shipped in after we arrived." He continued navigating through the mess of crates, heading towards what appeared to be a door at the end of the hanger. "I'll bring you out on a drop sometime, and explain the process behind it then."

Matt continued gazing around him, taking in all the sights as they finally reached the door. John slid a keycard through a reader next to it, before twisting the knob and proceeding through. Matt followed, and noticed that there was another door about twenty yards ahead, flanked by a pair of armed Marines in body armor and helmets. They both snapped to attention and saluted as John returned the salute and continued through the door, leading Matt into a long hallway. They took several turns, before encountering another pair of guards. John stopped in front of this door and turned to face Matt.

"This is it. The S.T.A.R.S. are already inside, and the rest of the brass is waiting for us before they make their big entrance. You're going to be asked to represent the SOC here, which I know you'll have no problems doing. Just remember to think through anything that you intend to say and that we're all on the same side here, no matter what," John said, before smiling. He pushed open the door, and Matt saw a regular looking conference room, which surprised him. There was a large circular table in the middle of the room, and about two dozen chairs either ringing it or set up in the corners. As John had said, the S.T.A.R.S. were already seated. They both walked over and sat down, before the door swung open again.

Before anyone even appeared in the doorway John stood up, and everyone else took the hint, standing as well. Several high ranking generals, wearing the uniforms of the Army, Marines and Air Force strode in, followed by President Bush right behind them. As soon as everyone was at a chair, Bush motioned for them to sit.

"Gentlemen, good morning. We have a lot to discuss, so let's get right to it. I want all of your opinions as to who we should take down first, Andrew Spencer or Franklin Evans," he said, before leaning back in his chair. It was clear that this discussion would be led by his subordinates, while Bush kept his options open and refrained from committing to a decision yet.

"Sir," one of the generals said, starting the conversation. John leaned over and whispered, "Major General Bradford Wake," which along with his blue uniform indicated to Matt that he was the Air Force's ranking representative here. "I believe we can all say that although his crimes are terrible, Andrew Spencer isn't nearly the threat to us that Evans is. Not counting the timely arrival of the 24th Infantry," he continued, gesturing to one of the Army generals sitting across from him, "We are heavily outnumbered here. Evans has rotated a vast majority of units that are giving even hints of being loyal to us to Afghanistan and other overseas bases, and stranding them. I know we could commandeer transport aircraft, God knows I have enough trained pilots over there to get at least three loyal divisions home, but there are two problems to this plan. The first is that Evans has an almost complete monopoly on our mid-air refueling assets. Without these, my fighters are stranded unless we can set up a large string of commercial airports and military bases willing to help us. We need those fighters because anyone trying to fly troops over here is going to encounter a whole lot of SAMs, and enemy aircraft." He paused for a moment before going on.

"And I think that, with the absence of a representative of the Navy, we can all guess what the second problem will be. Odds are, any troop transports we fly over will be intercepted and shot down, and if we use ships then our people will practically be fish in a barrel. So basically even if we could manage to fly in personnel, there's no way to get them the equipment they'd need to be able to fight. To make a long story short, the best we can hope for from overseas is a large number of infantry, arriving with the weapons and ammunition that they're able to carry over." With that, he leaned back, waiting for someone else to pick up the topic.

"As my counterpart in the Air Force put it, even if we can bring in people from overseas, Evans owns the air and sea in and around America," one of the Army generals said, rising to his feet. Matt didn't need John's help to know that he was looking at Major General Steven Lewis. "Even if we could secure some sort of forward supply depot," he continued, "Evans could just sit back and lob cruise missiles at us until he's blue in the face, and we wouldn't be able to lift a finger to stop him. Besides, I think this whole thing turns into a case of distance. Evans is the heavily armed enemy right next door, while Spencer is all the way across the ocean, and I think that our friends in the SOC and S.T.A.R.S.," he said, gesturing to Matt and the Raccoon survivors, "Have done an excellent job in shutting down their U.S. operations. For the time being, I don't think we have to worry about them." As he concluded, Bush nodded as if in agreement. Matt was leaning towards this option himself and was about to take the stage and say so, before John's advice to think things through came back to him. Before he could say anything, another general began speaking, and Matt sat back to listen.

"To begin with, I'd like to officially apologize to the SOC and S.T.A.R.S.," Major General Anthony Young said, as he looked at the representatives for both organizations. "I was misled by Franklin Evans, and by association Andrew Spencer and Umbrella as well. If I had looked past the blatant propaganda that Evans was spewing, I would have seen that he was wrong and you were right and maybe been able to prevent some of the bloodshed at the Alpha Site."

"That being said, I completely disagree with Generals Wake and Lewis," he went on. Bush leaned forward; Matt couldn't tell whether it was just a reflex of if he was surprised two of his Army generals were disagreeing. "Yes, Franklin Evans is a large threat to us, and by proximity he should be the most important and therefore the first one we deal with. But Evans hasn't been responsible for the destruction of three cities, and the widespread use of biological weapons against civilians. By taking Spencer out, we can quickly eliminate the largest threat to our country, and earn some time to gather our forces up and strike at Evans. But grinding ourselves down in a campaign against the units who have thrown in with the enemy, which my colleagues have said most likely won't be successful, is out of the question. Unless someone here can offer a plan that is guaranteed to topple Evans with a minimum of civilian casualties, allied losses and property destruction, my vote is to take down Spencer first." Matt caught just the hint of a smile on the President's face, and knew deep down that he shared the same position with Young.

"How do you propose taking down Spencer? He has legitimate and illegal facilities so intertwined that it will be impossible to determine what facilities to hit, how much manpower to commit against them, and to convince foreign countries to let us operate," General Wake said in reply. "At least with Evans, other countries will view it as cleaning up our own mess and stay out of it. If we try and take down an Umbrella plant in a country that is friendly towards Spencer, we could very well find ourselves with more enemies than just Evans and Umbrella." It was then that the U.S. Marine general present decided to voice his opinion.

"Personally I'm not one for playing political games with people trading in WMDs, but I know that we have enough troops loyal to us stationed in the Middle East and Europe to bulldoze anyone supporting Spencer," General George Smith said, "And wipe out his facilities on three continents. Not to mention taking down their main offices in Paris, and Spencer along with them. With him gone, maybe we'll all get lucky and Evans will back down without anyone to support him."

"What about Umbrella's Headquarters facilities?" Matt asked. Everyone around the table turned to look at him; their gazes filled with a mixture of confusion and barely restrained laughter. He felt like he could almost read their minds, and knew they were all thinking 'Has this kid lost his mind? Umbrella's only headquarters is in Paris.'

"He's right," John said, stepping up to the plate for his friend. "Even we didn't know about them until very recently. I have my people looking for them, but I don't have a lot of resources, and I have to search the whole planet. So far I've found two likely targets, one in Australia and one in South America," he said. "The purpose of these facilities is unknown, but since they were and are so well hidden, I believe that Umbrella's high-end research is being carried out there. It's likely that only a handful of people outside those sites even know they exist."

"There are at least three then," Matt said. "They have a facility in Montana too. That's where they're doing experiments on airborne viruses." The room fell silent as everyone digested the new information they had heard. The S.T.A.R.S. seemed to be the most hard-hit by the news. For years they had been planning on striking a crippling blow against Umbrella by taking down their Paris offices, only to learn that the attack would've had a minimal affect on the company, at best. All at once the room broke out with noise, everyone talking at the same time. President Bush finally motioned for silence, as the murmuring died down.

"Son, are you sure about this?" he asked, looking directly at Matt. "Because if you're right, then we need to make shutting that facility down a top priority, no matter who we go after first. We can't afford to let Umbrella have airborne bioweapons inside the U.S. A leak alone would be disastrous, and if they intentionally release those viruses, Spencer could wipe out the whole country."

"I wish I wasn't Mr. President, but I saw the documents with my own eyes," Matt replied. "And I was exposed to one of the viruses that they planned on using," he added.

"That's just wonderful," General Lewis muttered. "If those viruses get into the atmosphere, we're going to have a disaster on our hands. There's no doubt about it, we need to shut down that facility right now."

"We can't," John replied.

"What are you talking about? We move in the 24th along with the little air support that we have and take it down. We can be in and out before Evans and Spencer even know what hit them," Lewis answered. "I can have an armored brigade surrounding the complex in less than a day."

"You forget that Umbrella has at least two more of these facilities, and we have no idea how much information they share between them," Young shot back before John could reply. "For all we know they could all be working on airborne viruses. We take out one, and the others launch a retaliatory strike against civilians. We can't afford to make that kind of sacrifice for minimal gain."

"I don't even know what research they're sharing," John said, enunciating the 'I'. "The facilities are all isolated from each other, and none of them are networked into Umbrella's central mainframes. In effect, each headquarters complex is isolated from the other ones for exactly the reason we're debating; so no one can figure out where they all are, and what they're all researching."

"So you're suggesting that for the time being we just let them go?" General Wake asked, incredulous. "And when Umbrella's virus goes airborne, we can expect the Alliance to step in and save us, right?" he asked sarcastically. "That's right. You're sitting there with God knows how many troops and facilities like this scattered across the planet, telling us what we can and can't do without lifting a finger to help us."

"That was totally uncalled for," Matt shot back, rising to defend his friend.

"No it wasn't," John said softly. "General, you know that there's nothing I would like more than to unleash the wrath of God on Umbrella. Unfortunately, right now I can't do that. You want to know the specifics of the strength of my command? Fine. As of right now, I have one reinforced mixed regiment of Marines and Black Ops troops deployed on three different continents and operating in over two dozen countries. I have people slicing into Umbrella's networks and copying their entire mainframe searching for their headquarters facilities, I have people inside the U.S. training anti-Evans militia groups, and I have almost a quarter of my command here, guarding this meeting. I'm down to one modified Apache attack helicopter, a couple dozen modified Blackhawks, a handful of ground vehicles, and one dropship in this theater. Everything else I have at my disposal has been deployed overseas to support my people in their attempt find out if Umbrella has any more headquarters."

"I hope the S.T.A.R.S. were worth the loss of that helicopter, because we could've really used that advanced hardware against Spencer and Evans," Wake muttered. A handful of others around the table nodded in agreement, shocking Matt and the S.T.A.R.S.

"You miserable," Chris began, jumping to his feet.

"You miserable what? Now that this war is moving into a conventional phase, we don't need you anymore," Wake replied.

"What a jerk," Matt whispered to John, who nodded.

"He still believes the S.T.A.R.S. are at least partly responsible for our current situation, and that they weren't entirely innocent of the charges Umbrella trumped up against them," John replied, before turning to face Wake.

"If you throw out the S.T.A.R.S., I'm guessing the SOC will go too, and I'll walk," he said. "And you lose the second, fourth and fifth largest ground forces allied with you. Not to mention my intelligence support, and the orbital assets that you've been so eager to get your hands on."

"Calm down, both of you!" Bush said, raising his voice. "I think we've all heard enough from both side to sit down and make a decision about who to attack first. We'll conduct the vote by a show of hands. All in favor of going after Spencer first," he added, scanning the room. The Marine representative, General Young, John, Matt and the S.T.A.R.S. raised their hands.

"I assume then that everyone else is in favor of unseating Franklin Evans first," Bush said. "I have to go with the commanders of my two largest military assets, the Air Force and Army," Bush went on, as if apologizing to everyone opposed to that option.

"If that's the case, then under Article 12 of the Alliance Military Charter, I'm withdrawing my personnel from the campaign," John said. Wake turned to look at him, and appeared ready to rip his head off.

"What do you mean you're withdrawing? Didn't get your way, so now you're going to throw a tantrum?" he asked.

"I'm bound to the regulations of my military just like you are," John replied. "And one of our most important regulations is to not interfere in an ongoing civil war. As such, I'm authorized to withhold my troops for as long as you fight Evans."

"Let me get this straight. You've been the one sitting here pushing war, war, war, and now you're not going to fight? Some Alliance," Wake retorted.

"I never said I'm not going to fight," John answered. "My intelligence assets will still be available for your use, but I'm dedicating my command to dealing with Spencer. And I'd like to request that the S.T.A.R.S. and SOC be detached to help me."

"Now you're trying to weaken our forces," Wake began before Bush cut him off.

"Done," he said, looking squarely at General Wake. "General, you said it yourself. We don't need them anymore, and Colonel Davis clearly does. Colonel, you previously made clear to me the limits of Article 12 and how it applies to this situation. Is there anything else you can do to help us, or that we can do to help you?"

"If Evans engages my forces, Article 12 goes out the window. I'm not allowed to bait him into attacking, but if I were to make a guess, I'd say restraint isn't one of his strongest points. I do have to make him aware of the Charter though, because if he unknowingly breaks it, my hands are still tied," John replied. "Other than that, keep open lines of communication, just in case, would be all I can suggest."

"All right. Gentlemen, we meet back here in an hour to discuss planning operations against Evans. Until then, dismissed," Bush said. "Colonels Davis and Ryan, please stay here for a moment. The S.T.A.R.S. also," he added. Once everyone else left the room, Bush turned to John.

"Colonel Davis, I know how hard you pushed to have us take our Spencer first, and let me be the first to say that I completely agree with you. If the circumstances would've permitted it, I would've already ordered Generals Lewis and Wake to start hitting his facilities. Unfortunately for us we're all on the run, I have less than twenty thousand troops loyal to me in the whole United States as of now, and I need those two generals now more than anything else."

"I understand, Mr. President. Thank you for allowing the SOC and S.T.A.R.S. to withdraw from operations against Evans. We both know that's not where their fight is," John replied.

"Like I said earlier, you need their help more than we do. Even with them added to your forces, you still have what, fifteen hundred soldiers at the most?" Bush asked.

"That's about right," John answered.

"I meant it when I told you that if there's anything else I can do to help, it's yours," Bush stated. "You've already done more for our cause than anyone else allied with us, except the SOC and S.T.A.R.S.," he added, turning to face the representatives of both organizations. "Colonel Ryan, it seems as though reports of your demise were somewhat exaggerated," he said with a smile.

"Thank you, sir. I'm glad that I'm able to be here, and that my people are going to have the chance to pay back Umbrella for what they've done to our country. Umbrella's had this coming for a long time," Matt answered.

"I don't know how we will ever begin to repay the sacrifices the SOC has made on our behalf, especially you Colonel Ryan. And I'm certain that we'll never come close to settling the debt we hold to the S.T.A.R.S.," he said, switching his attention to them.

"Thank you Mr. President," Chris replied. "We just did what anyone else would do under the same circumstances," he added modestly.

"We all know that's not true. All of you have gone so far above and beyond the call of duty when it comes to fighting Umbrella that we have no way to even come close to sufficiently thanking or rewarding you. Giving three years of your lives to fight an enemy that outnumbered you more than five hundred to one, wasn't afraid to unleash WMDs at the drop of a hat and had no qualms about massacring civilians to get what it wanted, that's simply beyond belief," Bush replied. "And Colonel Davis, I want to thank you for all of the assistance you and your people have provided us, and how much you've sacrificed. I understand how hard it must be for all of you to be fighting here, while the rest of your people are under attack out there."

"We do what needs to be done where it needs to be done," John replied. "We're doing better than holding our own up there. I just wish I had more forces that I could commit here. But there's no use crying over spilled milk," he went on. "What we really need to do is start planning how to go after Umbrella, and how to take them down as quickly as possible."

"We know where three of their headquarters are, along with their main offices in Paris. If we launch one coordinated strike against all four locations at once, we may just have a chance of so badly decapitating the upper echelons of Umbrella's leadership that they'll be forced to fold. That, or pull back and lick their wounds while we take down the rest of their facilities," Matt said.

"I concur," John stated. "I can have my people pulled back from their searches, redeployed and ready to roll in less than a week. The problem's going to be taking those locations fast enough so we can pull out again before the militaries of the host countries show up and box us in. I'm most worried about Evan's people, who are crawling all over the Midwest and southern Canada looking for us."

"You leave them to us," President Bush replied. "Generals Wake and Lewis wanted their shot to go after Evans; well, here it is. We'll take care of Evans people around the facility in Montana, or at least draw them off long enough for you to get in and bring it down."

"All right then," John said, smiling. "I can have my people hit all three headquarters and roll in with a couple hundred men at each one," he added before turning to face Matt and the S.T.A.R.S. "How would you like to have your shot at Spencer?" he asked, with a huge grin on his face.

"I'll need to speak to Ian and the rest of my people, but I already know they'll be all for it," Matt answered. "It's about high time to end this thing."

"What are we waiting for?" Chris asked. "Like you said earlier Mr. President, we've given up three years of our lives for this moment. We'll be ready."

"You have my blessing," Bush stated, nodding in agreement. "I'll order in the 24th Infantry right before you hit Montana. That should give you enough of a window to get in and bring the house down. I wish I had assets that I could loan you to help out in South America and Australia, but they're all out of my reach as of now. If only Evans didn't have the blasted Navy," he went on, slamming his fist on the table. "Spencer knew," he concluded. "They knew that we'd have popular support if he ever made a move to unseat someone he put in power, and that the only way to keep our forces overseas from running home to help would be to control the Navy."

"I wouldn't be so sure he has complete control over it yet," John said. The glimmer in his eye gave him away. "In fact, I'm working on clearing out a corridor from Europe to the East Coast wide enough for us to bring in at least a heavy corps before Evans figures out what's going on. I've been tracking his naval deployments, especially subs. He's concentrating his forces in the Pacific and in the Persian Gulf, and trusting that Spencer can keep our people in Europe under control somehow. The Atlantic is almost completely clear of U.S. Navy ships, and the ones that are there either have crews and captains that are very sympathetic to our cause, or are ones that can be persuaded to get out of the way and stay there."

"Why didn't you bring this up earlier in the meeting?" Bush asked. "I'm sure we could've used that to persuade the others to hit Umbrella first."

"Because I don't trust General Wake," John replied. "He hasn't done anything yet, but I just can't put my finger on the feeling I'm getting from him. I'm afraid that if I would've told him about this, he would've passed the information on to Evans and Spencer, just for spite."

"I can't remove him," Bush said. "He's too important to the war effort to just remove without absolute proof of betrayal."

"For all of our sakes, I hope we never have to deal with that situation," John answered. "Now if you'll excuse me Mr. President, I have a lot of calls to make."

"Of course Colonel Davis," he said. "Good luck, gentlemen. By next week, this war could be just about over."

New York City

November 23, 2001 1:15 PM

"It is nearly time," a voice called, as Mohammed Shiek al-Medina stood, finishing his afternoon prayers. "I was at the airfield earlier today; everything stands ready for us. The infidels have sold us the knives we will use to slit their throats."

"Indeed," he replied, as he turned to face his longtime associate. "Nothing will stop us from carrying out this attack in the heart of the nonbelievers' nation. We strike tomorrow."

"God's will be done," the man replied, before leaving the room. Mohammed turned to look at the briefcase sitting on the floor next to the door and smiled.

'God's will be done,' he thought.

And, chapter! Number 18 is officially in the books, and as you can see a whole lot of stuff is happening. Or is about to happen.

One quick side note before I continue my end of chapter rant, I finally got to see RE: Apocalypse. Not bad as an action movie, but in comparison to the games, not good. On the plus side though, if you look at the Umbrella commandos in that film (the ones with the helmets, etc.) you get a pretty good idea of how I envisioned the SOC commandos to look in full battle gear. It's more of a cross between that and the Orbital Drop Shock Troopers from the game Halo 2, but you get the idea.

Anyhow, I'm sure your eyes are all pretty strained after reading this mega-chapter, so I'll keep this short. Sorry again for not updating within a reasonable time frame; I'm trying! I'll try to get Chapter 19 written and posted ASAP. I promise! And now, on to the COMING ATTRACTIONS!

Next Chapter: The moment I've been building up to for the last few chapters finally arrives, as Umbrella's plan to strike a U.S. city is carried out. The Alliance, SOC and S.T.A.R.S. abort their strikes against Umbrella's headquarters and main office, as all three factions send troops into New York in an attempt to save it, or for some other nefarious purpose. Obviously, the close proximity of three groups who hate each other is a recipe for disaster, at least for the poor people of New York. So tune in, or you'll miss all the exciting action that can be found in O: FS Chapter 19, Urban Warfare

P.S.: It seems that has changed its upload system somehow, so all of my scene changes (the asterisks and dashes) from previous chapters don't carry over into new ones. Sorry for the inconvenience; I'll have a new method of scene change soon! In the mean time, I tried to throw an extra space between lines where there was a scene change while I was in the preview phase of posting this. I hope it carries over.

P.P.S.: It didn't work. All scene changes are now indicated by (Scene Change) between lines. Sorry again!


	19. Urban Warfare

1Disclaimer: Come on. If you can't recite this by heart by now, I'll be very disappointed in you. Everything that I come up with for this story is mine. Anything that isn't mine isn't, and most likely never will be.

Author's Notes: Well ladies and gentlemen, this is the beginning of the big one. A knock-down, drag-out, multi-chapter slugfest between multiple military and paramilitary organizations, not to mention Umbrella's viral abominations. You all have had to wait long enough for this one, so I'll keep these notes limited to just this. Enjoy!

Operation: Falling S.T.A.R.S.

Chapter Nineteen: Urban Warfare

November 24, 2001

Washington State, 10:15 AM

Alliance Field Base

"Bravo Twenty-Three, this is Alpha One. I'm confirming your go-status," John Davis said, speaking in to a wireless headset radio and pacing around the same briefing room President Bush held his conference in just a few days earlier.

"Go status is confirmed," a disembodied voice spoke back. John had the conversation playing over an encrypted speaker phone, for the benefit of the room's occupants. The phone was distorting the voice of the man on the other end, which according to John was a necessary measure to protect the identities of his people. Matt couldn't fault his friend for this; he would've done the same thing in John's situation.

Generals Wake, Lewis and Young were seated around the table in the center of the room, along with Matt and the S.T.A.R.S. command staff that had remained on-site. The surviving members of that organization had been dispersed to a handful of nearby "secure sites," as John had called them. Matt guessed that John wanted as few people as possible poking around here, and couldn't blame him at all. Letting hundreds of people know that an extraterrestrial military force was operating on Earth, against the U.S. government no less, was not the best way to keep their presence here secret.

Although he did wish that the rest of the SOC were here right now. He had been staying with them after the first conference ended, and smiled to himself when he remembered how happy everyone was to see him alive. Mark had said that it seemed like he had more lives than a cat, and he was starting to agree with him. 'Not that I'll ever admit it,' Matt thought to himself, with another smile.

"Excellent," John replied, with a smile. "Major, good luck and good hunting. T-minus six hours to H-hour. Proceed to your jump-off point," he ordered, before taking off the headset, indicating the conversation was over. "All of my people are ready to roll out," John said, addressing the assembled officers. "We'll be providing up to the minute satellite and electronic intelligence concerning Umbrella's headquarters until my people make their moves against them, and I'll have my remaining orbital assets on standby, just in case."

"Not that I want to sound stupid or anything," Matt said, raising his hand, "But what exactly do you mean by remaining orbital assets?"

"You'll just have to wait and see," John said with a smile. "Hopefully I won't have to use them, but if I do, you'll know it. We're going to stick to the plan we discussed last week, hopefully without having to deviate at all. The 24th Infantry is going to kick off the attack by striking at the blocking force President Evans has stationed between us and the Montana facility, pushing them back. Once this has been accomplished, I'll be deploying a short battalion, in other words a company and a half, of my Marines to punch through whatever defenses are left and take that complex down. Umbrella's other two headquarters will also be hit around this time by a company of Marines each. My intel has indicated that these two sites are smaller and not as well-defended, so I'll be able to use fewer troops against them. That leaves me with two and a half companies to hit Umbrella's Main Offices in Paris, along with the entirety of the SOC and S.T.A.R.S. All of our models have given us an above-ninety eight percent chance for success." With that, John sat down, yielding the floor to whoever wanted it next.

"If you feel that confident that you can pull this off," General Young said, standing, "Then I have no problem committing the 24th to hit Evans' people. I strongly believe that this plan will work."

"No objections," General Lewis said, as General Wake nodded in agreement. The only assets they would be risking were the 24th Infantry, and compared to the other commands taking part in this assault, they would be in next to no danger. All they had to do was distract Evans' people for at most a couple of hours, which they could do just by rolling their troops into position. Win, lose or draw, they had the most to gain and the least to lose by giving the plan their consent.

"In that case gentlemen, the S.T.A.R.S., Colonel Ryan and myself have a helicopter to catch," John said. "Until we meet again." The S.T.A.R.S., Matt and John proceeded out of the room, leaving Generals Wake, Young and Lewis alone.

"Their computer models give them an above ninety eight percent chance of success," General Wake said sarcastically. "I could come up with a model that says they'll fail every time. If this attack fails, I'm holding Davis completely accountable. If I have my way, he'll be thrown off our planet and sent back to his own people, where he belongs."

"Why do you hate him so much?" General Lewis asked. "I can understand holding him responsible; our people are going to be putting their lives on the line to allow his people to hit Umbrella. But since the Alliance has started providing us assistance and shelter, all you've done is treat them with contempt."

"We don't need anyone else to help us take back our country, especially an alien, for God's sake," Wake replied harshly. "He can't be bothered to help us when we're on the run, but as soon as we start putting together an effective fighting force, there he is. You don't think that's suspicious at all? He's probably looking for some sort of reward from us for helping out. In fact, I bet he waited to contact us until he thought that we might have a chance against Evans. That would explain why he ignored us while we were fugitives; the odds of us surviving, let alone building a resistance, were next to zero."

"Not all of us were safely out of the country during Evans' coup General," Lewis replied. "I was in their death camp in Pennsylvania along with the President and the rest of his cabinet. If it weren't for the Alliance, we would've been dead, and there wouldn't have been any resistance."

"Fine," Wake replied, yielding the point to his Army counterpart. "I'm taking my helicopter back to _my _people. I'll coordinate the attack from there." He stood up, walking out of the room and leaving Generals Lewis and Young behind.

"So much for our flyboys, eh?" Lewis joked, looking at Young. "Let's see if he can put his money where his mouth is. For all of our sakes, I hope he can."

November 24, 2001 11:00 AM

New York City, New York

"It is time," a voice called. Mohammed Shiek al-Medina looked up, snapping the clips on the virus container closed. Inside, the vials of T-virus would be safe until he loaded them onto the airplanes they would be using for the attack. Which would occur very soon now, since the man speaking to him was the last pilot he was waiting for. The man had just arrived from Lebanon, after being smuggled through Egypt and Israel from his native country of Libya.

"Good, my brother. Let us ready the airplanes, and say our last prayers to the Almighty. Today we strike a great blow against the infidels," he replied, picking up the container and walking out of his small apartment, for the last time. Both men walked down the stairs of the building rather than take the elevator, and stepped right into a waiting van once they reached the street. The driver immediately pulled out into the road, knowing where his destination was, and not wanting to waste any time. He also knew what was in the container al-Medina carried next to his heart, and wanted both it and the man carrying it away from him as soon as possible. He was willing, even happy to die for the cause, but he was sure Allah would not welcome one of the _things_ that virus turned men into in Paradise.

The van quickly arrived at its destination, a small private airfield just outside of the city. His people had arranged for the facility to be empty for two weeks, which was more than enough time for al-Medina to put his plan into motion and launch the attack. Two men stood next to the hanger where his planes were being kept; they were only here to wish him luck on his attack. After that, they would head south, making sure the American media got some sort of tape, where they claimed responsibility for the attack. Mohammed wasn't sure why this was necessary, but didn't care as long as the Prophet's message was delivered to these nonbelievers.

"All stands in readiness," the first man replied, with a smile. "May Allah protect you, and guide you to safety after the attack. Our people will be here, ready to get you to safety and to destroy the airplanes." With that, he embraced al-Medina, knowing that this man before him held more courage than he ever would. It was one thing to support a strike against the infidels, but quite another to wield the sword of Islam itself against its enemies.

"After you return, I will have your passports and escape routes ready. The American military is crawling all over the Canadian border, so the best way out will be to the south, through Mexico. From there, you can get a flight back to Pakistan, and back to the camp through the normal way," the second man said. He was slightly shorter than the first man, and much thinner, almost stick-like compared to his companion. It was his job to make sure every member of the cell made it back alive. Men with safe covers in America were hard to come by, especially after the ongoing American campaign in Afghanistan began. The intelligence they had uncovered over there had led to the elimination of at least six cells of loyal fighters.

"Very good," al-Medina replied. "Taxi the planes onto the runway," he called into the hanger, as the other pilots and handful of mechanics sprang into motion. "Check every plane over twice, and make sure the fuel tanks are full. I don't want any mistakes."

November 24, 2001 11:27 AM

Washington D.C.

The White House

"So that about sums up all of the intel we have right now, Mr. President. We've continued to notice increased activity in the area the renegade 24th Infantry Division is occupying, including an increased combat air patrol. Whatever's going to happen, it's going to happen very soon," President Evans' highest ranking general said, using a laser pointer to highlight areas on a blown-up satellite photo.

"Do we have any idea where they're heading, or what their objective is?" Evans asked. It didn't make sense to him. Bush's people were holed up in a very defensible position, with plenty of supplies and a strong enough anti-air defense grid to ensure that he wouldn't even consider sending in a stealth bomber to attack them. Not to mention that deep down in his gut he knew that there was some sort of Alliance base nearby.

But if Bush's people attacked, they would be giving up this safety and exposing themselves to destruction. While they were a powerful threat to him, they were just one division. He had three within two hundred miles of them, which was enough firepower to rip the 24th apart in a matter of minutes if they tried anything. Not to mention any help Umbrella could send his way, which Evans was sure Spencer would do, if only to say that he had a hand in the final defeat of President Bush and his "Coalition."

"Not at this time, sir. There's absolutely no reason for them to attack, that I can think of. They have everything they need to hold out indefinitely, and there's no reason to believe that they won't be reinforced at some point in the future," the general replied. "The only thing that's in the area that could even be considered a target would be a city, and attacking one of them would be suicide. More likely than not, the civilian population would consider them invaders, they would get next to no benefit since our navy owns the entire Pacific Ocean which prevents them from being reinforced or resupplied from overseas, and we'd have them pinned down with nowhere to run.

"Could this be an act of desperation?" Evans asked. He had been hoping for something of the sort for months; with the main body of Bush's rebels out in the open, they could be crushed. Not to mention that an attack could mean that Bush was looking for some way to build up momentum, or possibly to convince an army of wavering traitors to stay in the fight.

"It's entirely possible. Although we haven't picked up on any discontent, I'm sure it must be there. To what extent remains unknown, although if I were a betting man I'd say that Bush is doing this to show the world that he isn't going to just roll over and die. It's a pity he managed to get out of Umbrella's prison camp; this would've been over a lot sooner, and we could've concentrated on putting the country back together."

"I agree, but Spencer dropped the ball. We'll deal with him when the time comes, but Bush is the primary threat for now. I want to know the moment his people break camp," Evans said, as another aide knocked on the open door to the room. "What is it?" Evans asked, looking up.

"Sir, I have a phone call for you," the aide replied. "I think you might want to take it in private," he added.

"Who is it?" Evans asked. "Never mind, put him on the speaker phone in here. I have nothing to hide from my generals."

"Yes sir," the aide replied, before disappearing back inside the doorframe. A few seconds later, the speaker phone on Evans' desk came to life. The man on the other end instantly caused Evans' blood to boil over.

"Hello President Evans," the voice said, with a familiar sarcasm. The last time he had heard his title used in such a dishonorable way, his people had been bombed from orbit by an Alliance warship.

"Who is this?" he asked, almost ready to rip the phone's cord out, and hurl it through the wall.

"Colonel John Davis, Earth Alliance Marine Corps," the man on the other end replied. Evans squinted, picking up on another sound in the background noise on Davis' end of the phone line. It sounded almost like helicopter rotors.

"What can I do for you, Colonel?" Evans replied, with as much hostility in his voice as he could muster.

"Right down to business. Good; I don't want to spend any more time on the line with you than I have to. I'm calling to let you know that I'm deploying forces to engage Umbrella's Headquarters facility in Montana, and to inform you of Article 12 of the Alliance Military Charter," John replied.

"Montana? I should have my people blast you out of the sky," Evans replied, "After what you did to us at the Alpha Site."

"Let me assure you, that would be a bad idea. According to Article 12, I'm not allowed to interfere in an ongoing civil war on a member world. That means that unless you shoot at me, I can't shoot back," John said.

"What about the Alpha Site?" Evans asked. "My people obviously weren't shooting at you then."

"And there wasn't a civil war then, if you remember. As long as the conflict between you and President Bush continues, I can't intervene. Unless you shoot at me. Also, under Article 12 I'm required to make a complete force declaration to you, as well as tell you how many of those forces are deployed inside the United States. That will be transmitted to you shortly," John stated. "I take no pleasure in talking to you, just so you know that the feeling is mutual.

"Well I'm glad that we share that in common," Evans replied. "Is there anything else you'd like to tell me?"

"No," John replied, before the line went dead.

"I really need to change phone numbers," Evans stated, before doing what he had thought about earlier, and throwing the phone across the room. "Get me General Vincent right now. Tell him that I may have a use for the new toys he's cooked up for us. We'll see just how tough these Alliance soldiers are."

November 24, 2001 12:13 PM

Outskirts of New York City

"Be very careful with this canister," al-Medina said, handing the virus container to one of the technicians that had been supplied to his cell. Their job was to load the virus vials into the aerial distribution system on each of the planes he would be using to attack. "If it ruptures, we all die."

"Of course," the man replied, before taking the canister to the first airplane parked on the tarmac of the runway. He opened it, before removing two vials of the T-virus, one for each wing-mounted dispenser. al-Medina had enough planes and vials to blanket all of New York, with a little bit left over, in case they missed anything. He watched as the man hooked the vials up to the dispensers, before moving on to the next plane. At the rate he was moving, they would be ready to move in less than a half-hour. Before he could celebrate his impending victory against America however, he heard several panicked voices, along with an angry shout. He ran towards the voices, just in time to see a disaster unfolding.

"This, this imbecile, he left the wheel chalks on. I tripped. May Allah forgive me," the man with the container said, as he gestured towards the ground. Mohammed al-Medina realized, at that very moment, what it felt like to have his life flash before his eyes. Six vials of the airborne-strain T-virus had shattered. They were all infected, and in less than an hour, they would all be dead.

Somewhere over Idaho

November 24, 2001 12:15 PM

"We're going to meet up with one of my dropships outside Boise," John said, as their helicopter continued flying towards its destination. At least another dozen Blackhawks were in formation with them. John had explained that the helicopters had been completely coated with a radar-absorbent compound to make them as stealthy as possible, but just to be safe they were all staying as close to the ground as possible. "From there, we stay under cover until the 24th comes online, then we jump to Paris, and rip Spencer a new one."

"Sounds like a plan," Matt replied, before he noticed that John wasn't looking at him. He reached down to his belt, where he had a radio clipped, and flipped a switch on it. Suddenly, a man's voice filled the otherwise-quiet helicopter.

"Repeat, priority one alert. An airborne variation of the T-virus has been detected outside New York City."

"This is Davis," John spoke into the radio. "Talk to me."

"Sir, Overwatch picked up a heavy concentration of T-virus particles at a small airport on the outskirts of the city," the man on the other end replied.

"Overwatch?" Matt mouthed.

"It's a low-orbit based surveillance satellite network. It's generally designed to look out into space, so any friendly ground forces we have deployed can get a heads-up if any bad guys are coming in from outside of a solar system. It can also be calibrated to scan planets, and it's especially good for monitoring airspace. It's a very, very sensitive system. Let's just say that I could put it in orbit around the moon, and still be able to count the number of ants in every anthill in the entire Western Hemisphere," John replied, before turning back to the radio. "Understood. I want a snapshot on the airport, right now."

"Yes sir," the man on the radio replied. John adjusted a dial on the device, which Matt assumed controlled its frequency.

"Flash update," John spoke clearly. "First, Second and Fifth Companies are to immediately redeploy to New York City, staging ground Blue. Third and Fourth are to continue with their missions, and hit Umbrella's Montana and Australia facilities. Sixth Company, activate Avenger." He didn't even wait for replies, before getting up and walking into the cockpit. Before he was able to come back and sit down, Matt felt the helicopter accelerating.

"What just happened?" he asked, confused.

"Umbrella's attacking New York City. I need to talk to President Evans right now," he replied.

Outskirts of New York City

November 24, 2001 12:16 PM

Mohammed struggled to shake off the shock that was still clinging to him, as he realized that everyone at this airport was a dead man. Because of a stupid fool's mistake, enough T-virus had been released to ensure that they would all die. There would be no escape from this attack against America.

"What do we do?" One of the men asked, finally snapping al-Medina out of his trance.

"Get the planes in the sky. Take as many of the infidels with us as we can," he replied, before heading towards the first plane himself. He shut the door behind him, and immediately began starting up the engine. He didn't know how much time he had left, but he wanted to be sure that there was enough to serve his cause.

The engine finally sputtered to life, as Mohammed slammed the throttle forward, taxing to the end of the runway. As he turned around, he noticed that the other pilots were just reaching their planes, and smiled. He would be the first one to strike the Americans on this glorious day. The plane vibrated with anticipation as he brought the throttle up to full, and finally lifted off the ground. He had just cleared the end of the runway, and was no more than fifty feet off the ground when a massive wave of pressure slammed the plane, and almost caused him to lose control. He risked a glance over his shoulder to see what the cause of the disturbance was, and froze in horror.

A blueish-white lance of fire was reaching down from the sky, tracing across the airfield and swallowing not only the hanger, but all of the planes on the ground. He forced himself to turn around, knowing that those he left behind would soon be in Paradise. 'How could Allah do this to our cause,' al-Medina thought. For only He had the ability to reach down from the heavens to take his brothers from their holy mission. Such thoughts were quickly pushed out of his mind as he felt a sudden wave of illness pass through him. The discomfort quickly passed, washing everything out of him but one thought. Kill the Americans.

Washington D.C.

November 24, 2001 12:17 PM

The White House

"Sir, you have another phone call from John Davis," his aide said, as President Evans looked up. Evans didn't say anything, but grabbed the phone out of the man's hands.

"Umbrella's stabbed you in the back," John said, before Evans could even open his mouth. "We've detected a massive release of the T-virus into the air outside of New York City. We believe it's contained, but I'm moving people into the area to make sure. I'll remind you that Article 12 is still in effect," John began, before the line dropped dead for a moment. 'What was that all about?' he thought to himself, with a frown.

"Get General Vincent in here right away. And tell the New York National Guard to put New York City under martial law, right now," he called to his aide. Whatever that call was about, he'd be ready to deal with both the Alliance and Umbrella, whichever became a threat first.

Somewhere above Idaho

November 24, 2001 12:20 PM

"I understand. One of the planes got away," John said to Matt, before turning to his radio again. "Take it down."

"I can't, sir. A piece of debris wandered into the path of the beam after you ordered the snapshot. I'm guessing that whatever it was had something combustible in it, since as soon as the beam touched it, it blew up. The explosion caused the beam to distort, and sent a massive surge through the cannon itself. The primary, and all three back-up capacitors blew. It'll be at least a few hours before the onboard maintenance systems bring it back on-line," the same man as before replied.

"What cannon, and what beam?" Matt asked.

"Remember the orbital asset I told you about that you'd know if you saw?" John asked in return. "This is it. The A-117 Orbital Ion Cannon, or as we like to call it, the "Godwrath." I don't have all of the information right now, but somebody's planning on using a small plane to spray New York City with an airborne form of the T-virus. And the only piece of technology I have that can shoot that plane down in time is broken," he said, slamming his fist off the wall of the helicopter. The other Marines onboard turned to look at him, before quickly returning to whatever they had been doing. "In over a thousand years, we've never had an Ion Cannon break down, and especially not because of an energy surge. Of all the things," John added. "That doesn't matter now. We have to get to New York City, and fast."

Above New York City

November 24, 2001 12:22 PM

Mohammed noted that flying the plane was becoming more and more difficult as he neared where his assigned target was. He guessed that the virus in his bloodstream was progressing more rapidly than anyone anticipated; in a few minutes he figured he wouldn't even be able to keep the plane flying level. Which was a shame, because he'd only get one pass at a relatively small part of the city.

He adjusted the controls ever so slightly as he finally reached his intended destination: Queens. He reached down to open the dispensers, when a wave of intense pain shot through his body. Mohammed looked down at his arms in time to see the flesh literally rippling, as if something alive were trying to force its way out of him. He suddenly lost all control of his body, knocking the controls forward and to the left, sending the plane towards a crash landing in the absolute best place for someone hoping to contain a viral outbreak. Manhattan Island.

Somewhere above Idaho

November 24, 2001 12:23 PM

"He's down," Matt heard over John's radio. He guessed that the man meant the plane carrying the T-virus. "We've got a class-two infection zone, centered on Manhattan Island."

"Class two?" John asked. "He didn't get the dispensers opened? Thank you God," he continued, turning his eyes skyward.

"What's that mean?" Matt asked, as John smiled.

"It means that whoever was flying that plane wasn't able to dump the virus out over the city. He crash landed on Manhattan Island, which means that the only place that's contaminated is the area immediately around the site. We can contain it, and save the city," he replied. "If we hurry. That's what I meant when I said I wanted Sixth Company to activate 'Avenger.' It's the only thing I've got left that can stop the virus."

"An anti-virus isn't going to do that much good," Matt replied. "A lot of people are going to get infected, and spread the virus before you can get whatever 'Avenger' is in gear."

"I'm not going to distribute an anti-virus," John stated, "I've got one piece of technology capable of stopping the T-virus dead in its tracks; a large anti-matter charge planted as close to the crash site as possible.

"Anti-matter? Isn't that stuff theoretically supposed to be a lot more powerful than a nuke? And you want to set off a _large_ charge in the city?" Matt asked. The idea of detonating a huge bomb in the middle of a city didn't exactly seem like the best way to save it, at least to him.

"It doesn't quite work the way science fiction has led you to believe," John replied. "Let me see if I can explain. When an anti-matter charge goes off, there is an initial explosion generated by the combination of anti-matter and matter, but it's generally small. The real power of the weapon comes into play once the explosion is over. You see, when matter and anti-matter combine, there's a sort of matter vacuum that occurs. They cancel each other out, which creates a hole in the fabric of reality. Obviously, this hole cannot be allowed to remain, which means that all of the matter in the immediate area surrounding the blast is drawn in towards the center, almost like a miniature black hole, in order to fill the gap."

"Including all of the T-virus that managed to seep out of the wreck," Matt finished. "So you'll be able to concentrate all of the virus into one area. Then what?"

"Not only into one area, but one very small area. By the time that happens, my Ion Cannon should be back on-line, so we drop the hammer on that area, and presto. All that's left is cleanup work."

"This could actually work. One problem though; what happens if we don't take out all of the zombies on the way to the site?" Matt asked. John paused for a moment, thinking about his answer.

"You remember that C-130 that DefTek modified for you, that had an anti-viral distribution system hooked up into it?" John asked in reply. "Part of the 'Avenger' operation plan includes getting your pilots down to that plane, and bringing it up here. All we have to do is detonate the anti-matter charge, and keep the outbreak contained to Manhattan Island," John said.

"Anything else in your Op Plan that you want to share?" Matt asked. He didn't want to pry, but he wanted to be aware of the plan he was following, in case something went wrong.

"One last part. I'm opening the Atlantic corridor. We're going to be getting a whole lot of friendly forces over here, in less than two weeks. So that's about it; all we have to do is hold back the undead, detonate a bomb on the epicenter of the outbreak, hit it with an orbital weapon, then wait for a C-130 to come in and vaccinate the entire surviving human population of Manhattan. Think we can do it?"

"Piece of cake," Matt replied, before sliding a clip into the F-1100 that had been given to him by Mark just before he had left for the last meeting before the planned attack. Matt smiled sadly as he thought back to the conversation he had. He was looking forward to getting back to the SOC as soon as he could. Nothing against the Alliance, but they were his people, his command, his brothers in arms. Very few things would ever come close to that bond he had with the men and women in the SOC.

"When we went through the Umbrella complex after, well, you know, we found this. It's yours; we're positive of that. It's brought you enough good luck to make it this far," Mark had said, "So it's only right that it's with you when we finish this."

'He hadn't known what to say after that,' Matt remembered. 'Of course, there was nothing to say.' As he finished that thought, he felt the helicopter begin to slow down, as John reached out for the door handle next to him, and slid the door open. The other Marines on the helicopter began piling out as soon as the helicopter was near the ground, not even waiting for it to set down. Matt knew there wasn't time to waste, as he quickly followed. Two Marines remained in the helicopter for a few extra seconds, taking the time to toss down extra equipment, weapons and ammunition before they too joined the squads and platoons gathering on the ground. Matt found himself wandering over towards the SOC contingent, finally rejoining his friends for good.

"Welcome back!" Mark shouted, slapping him on the back. "It's about time you got here. Poor Paul over there thought that he had been replaced," he joked, with a smile.

"Replaced?" Paul asked, before punching Mark lightly in the stomach. "I'm the one that's supposed to come up with stupid lines like that one."

"I missed you guys a lot too. Hey, is our ride here yet?" Matt asked, looking around. The helicopters were already barely more than dots on the horizon, but there was no dropship in sight. Everyone seemed impatient, especially including the Alliance Marines. Matt knew that they were all aware of what would be happening when the dropship showed up, and that they all wanted it to hurry up and get there. The outbreak in New York wasn't going to stop itself.

"Not yet man," Mark replied. "But there's a few people here who want to see you first." Matt wondered who it could be, until he noticed two people dressed in SOC field uniforms approaching him. Matt already had a guess as to who the first person was, but the identity of the second, slightly shorter person was a mystery.

"Ian?" Matt asked, as the first person reached them. The person took off his helmet, proving Matt right. "What are you doing here? You should be..." Matt began, before Ian cut him off.

"Back in a secured location somewhere, while you're all out there risking your lives? You know me better than that, Matt. Besides, it's been a long time since I've really been in the field. I need to work out the kinks and all that jazz, you know?" Ian said, with a smile.

"I've really missed you guys," Matt replied. "I was hoping that this would be the end of Umbrella, so we could put all of this crap with them behind us."

"It still might be," John said, before checking his wristwatch. "When my Ion Cannon comes back on, Umbrella's left-over headquarters are going to get thumped. As soon as we clean up New York, it's right to Paris."

"And not a moment too soon," the second person Matt was supposed to meet said. The pitch of her voice clearly indicated that she was a woman. Matt stood in shock as she took off her helmet, and smiled at him.

"Melissa? What are you doing out here?" he asked, dumbfounded.

"I'm tired of you going off and getting yourself into trouble," she replied. "Besides, Ian said we needed every person we could get for this."

"But you're not field certified," Matt began, "Not that I'm not happy to see you out here. I'm not going to play the sexist and say you shouldn't be here; I'm just worried about you."

"I've been working with Ian, Mark and Paul since you... disappeared a few months ago. I'll be fine," Melissa answered, smiling again. "Besides, we've got our guardian angel to look out for us," she continued, looking at John.

"I'm not sure I'd go that far," he answered, actually starting to blush, "Since I'm just doing my job. But since you're out here with us, that'll actually make my work a lot easier. Thanks," he added, before turning and heading towards a small cluster of Marines. Matt excused himself, and caught up quickly.

"It was your idea, wasn't it?" he asked, looking John right in the eyes. "To have Melissa in the field with us. Like I said before, I don't have a problem with it. She's a big girl, and she's more than capable of taking care of herself. I just want to know who suggested it."

"She did. And believe me when I say I didn't expect this. But it really does make my job easier; since you're both out here, I can keep my eyes on both of you at the same time. Now what do you say to getting out of here and cleaning up New York?" he asked. As he finished the question, the air above them began shimmering, before resolving into an Alliance dropship. It quickly set down on the ground, and the rear ramp automatically slid open. The Marines all walked towards it as if nothing had happened, while the SOC commandos stared in awe at the vessel.

A pair of doors on each side of the dropship, in front of and behind the wings, also slid open. Marines boarded there as well, as Matt realized the logic in having multiple entrances and exits from the ship. Not only would they be able to exit and enter quickly, but it would prevent the Marines exiting from being slaughtered as they ran out of just one door or ramp.

"All right people, let's load up and move out!" John called, as he himself began walking towards the ship. The SOC soldiers began shaking off their surprise and boarded as well, as something caught Matt's eye. He hadn't noticed it before because of the crowd of Marines and SOC personnel milling around, but there were actually four pickup trucks attached under the wings of the dropship, with a fifth parked next to the ramp at the rear.

"Technicals?" Matt asked, looking at John.

"That about sums it up. More like an APC than a technical, but close enough. Run-flat tires, _our _bulletproof glass, and enough armor packed under the chasis to put a tank to shame. Not to mention the fact that the engine runs off of a fuel cell, so it's quiet, has a lot of power to spare, and is small enough so the truck body can actually support all of the crap we've packed into it. I'd rather have a few Champion Heavy Tanks, but I can make do with these," he replied, before motioning for Matt to get on the ship. "It's time to go."

November 24, 2001 12:39 PM

Washington D.C.

The White House

"Ah, General Vincent. Please have a seat," President Evans said, gesturing to a very-uncomfortable looking reclining chair that had been brought in just for this meeting. "I've been expecting you."

"Of course Mr. President. And allow me to apologize for the delay. There was another... civil disturbance outside of the White House. I had to wait for a helicopter to become available before I could arrive safely," Vincent replied, sitting down.

"Of course, of course. The rabble still hasn't come to grips with the fact that I'm the right man for this office, not Bush, and certainly not anyone else. Now tell me, do you have anything ready for me?"

"Sir, allow me to thank you for the lasers that you managed to acquire. I don't know how you got them or where they came from, but they're magnificent, for lack of a better word. The machining, the power supply, all of it is far beyond anything I've ever seen before, except maybe what they're working with at Area 51," Vincent began, before Evans interrupted him.

"Yes, I know how amazing they are. What were you able to do with them?" he asked, cutting to the chase. There was no time to waste if he was going to have anything to deploy against the Alliance.

"Yes, Mr. President. By studying the power plant in depth, we were able to reverse-engineer something similar. The pistols run off a fuel cell technology, but as far as we can tell there's no way to replace the cells. We fired a few test shots and monitored power output, and frankly we were shocked. The cells seem to be able to recharge themselves over a short time, without any visible method of collecting energy. They were locked in a pitch-black storeroom so solar power is out, and we tried storing them in as close to absolute zero temperatures as we could sustain, yet they still recharged so thermal power is out too. We gave up on figuring out how it works, and just accepted that it does actually function," Vincent said.

"So we have some sort of limitless power source at our disposal. Can it be weaponized?" Evans asked.

"Unfortunately sir, the answer to that question would require us to know exactly how the lasers get their power. But we did get something useful out of our experiments. For some time we've been experimenting with a type of exoskeleton, as the next generation of infantry armor. Something even beyond the planned Land Warrior system. Finding some sort of metal durable enough to protect our troops, yet light enough to be worn comfortably was something we thought would be next to impossible. Until we started playing around with the lasers you acquired for us. As I mentioned before, we managed to reverse-engineer the power source for the pistols, only in the form of a slightly larger generator. We used that to power a set of industrial-strength lasers we engineered from the pistols themselves, and managed to do this. By heating up a special blend of metals to an extremely high temperature, we were able to get them to fuse on a molecular level, creating a very dense, very light layer of composite protective armor. The armor itself is no thicker than a fingernail, yet in tests we conducted with the SOC railgun we captured, it was capable of stopping a slug propelled at hypersonic velocities."

"What are you trying to tell me?" Evans asked.

"That we have developed a suit of powered combat armor that is capable of offering complete protection for one of our soldiers from any Earth-designed weapon up to a nuclear bomb. And that we've had a crash-course production run underway for several weeks, and managed to scrape together enough armor for nearly a platoon of infantry. And that's not even the best part," Vincent replied.

"What is?" Evans asked.

"I can tell you where every Alliance soldier on our planet is, and I have access to the strengths and weaknesses of every piece of equipment they have on Earth," he said. Evans looked at him in shock.

"How?" he asked.

"Area 51 again, Mr. President. Remember how I mentioned earlier that I had seen equipment similar to the laser pistols there? A crash actually occurred at Roswell, but no, it wasn't an Alliance ship. Whoever it belonged to, they were on a technological level very close to the Alliance, within a few decades at the worst. We guessed that the Alliance wasn't using their most cutting-edge technology here, and decided to try some of the equipment we recovered in the wreck. Our people found a device that works similar to our Echelon system when we were cataloging the salvage from the crash, and discovered that it's tuned to Alliance communication networks. After listening for a short time, we were able to begin tracing signal origins through our GPS network, and were able to locate every broadcasting Alliance soldier on the planet. Not only that, but the computer from the downed ship contained an encyclopedic library of Alliance ship and vehicle types, along with weaknesses and strengths."

"So how do we use this against them?" Evans asked again, his interest piqued.

"The weapons we believe they have here won't penetrate our new armor, or at least not easily. With the help of the crashed ship's computer, we've managed to fine-tune the laser technology we acquired into a weapon that is theoretically capable of defeating any protective equipment they have with them," Vincent replied.

"Theoretically? You can't give me a promise, or anything better than your best guess?" Evans asked, although he already knew the answer to that question.

"Not without actually knowing what they brought with them, and having samples to test the lasers on. By the way, these weapons, and the armor should also be very effective against Umbrella's B.O.W.s, should you wish to pursue actions against them in retaliation for New York City," Vincent said, knowing that Franklin Evans would welcome the opportunity to strike back with forces impervious to his enemies.

"Order the deployment of your troops to New York. If we take out the Alliance contingent there, maybe it'll be a strong enough message to make them reconsider aiding Bush. Make sure they don't attack the Alliance forces at first; give them a chance to disperse so we can pick them off a little at a time. Maybe Umbrella's monsters will be able to soften them up a little too," Evans mused, before waving for General Vincent to leave. He quickly did, wanting to carry out his orders as soon as possible. He knew better than to risk President Evans' displeasure.

New York City

November 24, 2001 1:15 PM

"Come on. We're losing the barricade!" Captain Francis Lewis of the New York National Guard yelled, waving for the two squads he had left in reserve to come forward. He and his company had been tasked with holding a three-block stop-line, and with shooting any undead on sight. They had received just enough time to arrive and begin setting up razor wire before the first waves of zombies arrived. They were the only first responders left in the area other than a handful of NYPD officers who had survived initial contact. The officers were holed up about fifteen blocks from the crash site of a small airplane, which seemed to be the center of the mess Lewis found himself in. The cops were only a few blocks away from his position, but in the ocean of the undead they found themselves in, it might as well have been two miles. The cops were not able to do anything but survive, which was a situation the National Guardsmen quickly found themselves entering.

"The reserve's already committed," a voice called back. "There's a breach on the far left of our line. When are we getting reinforced?"

"Not until our people have the bridges secured. If we get overrun, there's nothing in position to stop these things until they get to the bridges themselves. And if they do, we're talking about hundreds of thousands of people that are going to get turned into these things between here and there; more than anyone can hope to stop. We have to hold the line!" Lewis screamed, bringing his M-16 rifle up to his shoulder and firing into the crowd of undead just a dozen yards from where he was standing. All around him, men were firing shotguns, submachine guns, assault rifles, and even pistols to stop the undead horde. No one used explosives for fear of taking out the razor wire that was their last line of defense from the ravenous zombies. And despite all of their best efforts, they were failing.

The corpses of the zombies trapped in the razor wire were actually still trying to reach the Guardsmen, which shocked most of the soliders under Lewis' command. Of course, that there were even zombies here at all was a pretty big shocker to everyone. Not to mention some of the other... things they had seen among the hordes of undead.

"Baldie at two o'clock!" someone yelled, as one of the massive zombies they had given the nickname to lumbered forward. This was their second encounter of the afternoon with one of the things, which stood over ten feet tall and took an awe-inspiring amount of firepower to put down and keep down. The first one had been responsible for the breach in his line, the death of a half dozen men, and then the deaths of another four men as the first six killed somehow came back to life as zombies. It was then that Lewis and his people had learned how to deal with the undead and the infected alike; by shooting them in the head indiscriminately. If there was a cure they didn't have access to it, so it was understood that the infected would be put out of their misery in as mercifully a way as possible.

"Take him down!" Lewis yelled, as he began looking towards his right to see where the monster was. He finally spotted it, and stopped dead in his tracks in fear. It was actually working on lifting up a car, to throw it at his position.

"Scatter!" he called out as the beast finally succeeded, and hurled the vehicle through the razor wire. The wire snapped, whipping through the street and hitting a few unlucky Guardsmen. No one appeared to be fatally injured as their comrades began pulling them back, away from the ravenous undead. It was then that Lewis saw something that sent a chill up his spine.

The "Baldie" made a motion with its arm, as several zombies stopped what they were doing and began stumbling for the breach in the line. 'It can actually control them,' he thought to himself, as his rifle clicked empty. He stopped to reload, slammed a fresh clip into his weapon, then noticed that his men had begun to pull back. In fact, he was the farthest forward of his surviving troops on this block, something that the zombies were quick to notice. Lewis hurriedly began to backpedal, firing into the closest zombies, aiming for their heads as much as possible. His troops farther back did their best to help, but out of fear of hitting him their assistance was kept to a minimum.

"We've got to get out of here!" one of his lieutenants yelled. "They've broken our left flank too! We're losing the line! The whole company is in retreat!" Lewis couldn't help but feel sorry for the man. Here they were, fighting for their lives with no support, and no hope of rescue. 'If only there wasn't a war going on between Bush and Evans, we might've had more troops nearby to help us," he thought. He remembered the National Guard unit that had been called out to help hunt down the S.T.A.R.S., who he himself had believed were innocent. If that unit were still alive, they could've helped to hold the city, and maybe it wouldn't have been lost. 'I guess this is what my belief in the S.T.A.R.S. gets me,' he added. It was ironic that the people he silently supported were going to be the ones responsible for his death.

Of course, the national S.T.A.R.S. office was located in New York. There were thousands of well-trained operatives who worked at that branch, all of whom could have been called out to help hold back the tide of undead rising in Manhattan. But instead, they were all pulling out of the city like rats deserting a sinking ship. Several teams had gone rogue, finding their way into the failing defenses of the borough, but it was too little, too late. Pockets of resistance would hold out, largely centered on the well-armed, well-trained S.T.A.R.S. who remained, Lewis was sure, but the National Guard was being whipped up and down the city by this new enemy. Not that it was their fault; they were the citizen soldiers who were supposed to help people out during environmental disasters, not the people who were expected to wage war against the dead themselves.

"There's movement behind us!" someone yelled in a panicked voice, as the chatter and booms of heavier weapons began to die out. It was clear to Lewis that his people were running out of ammo, and time.

"We have to make a stand!" he responded. "At least we'll go down fighting! Come on!" he yelled, trying to rally his troops. But it was too late, most of them had already broken, heading for the entrances to the buildings lining the street in an attempt to hide from the zombified army besieging them. Lewis knew that would never work; he had already seen the zombies break down reinforced doors in the pursuit of the living, and he had no doubt that old "Baldie" could do more than just direct traffic and throw cars at them. Lewis counted the number of soldiers he had left, and frowned. Out of the fifty men he had originally been given, less than two dozen remained for him to command. He was sure that twice that number were hiding out, and guessed that the rest had been wounded and taken with those who were hiding.

"Radio!" Lewis called, hoping somehow to reach someone who could help them. Someone placed a receiver in his hand, as the zombies continued their methodical advance. "This is Captain Francis Lewis, National Guard, reporting in. Hostile forces have breached our lines on two separate blocks, and have my position surrounded. Request immediate reinforcements, over!"

"Negative, Captain. No reinforcements are available. You are advised to hold your position for the time being," a voice on the radio replied.

"Listen to me! I can't hold! We're almost out of ammo, heavily outnumbered, and have no defensive perimeter. The enemy is behind us, and I know there's at least a regiment of troops just sitting on the bridges with nothing to do but twiddle their thumbs. If I don't get help now, we're going to lose this position," he called back. Several seconds of static was his only reply, until the voice came back on to the line.

"I'm sorry Captain. We've shifted the primary defensive line to the bridges, where we can do a better job of holding. This is New York Command, signing off," the man replied. Lewis screamed a string of curses, before turning his attention back to the situation at hand. They were all as good as dead, and no one cared. Suddenly, the radio came back to life.

"Captain Lewis, reinforcements are en route," a new voice said calmly, giving Lewis a bit of hope. "ETA thirty seconds. Hold on."

"Thirty seconds!" Lewis yelled, before sliding his last magazine into his M-16. All around him, men were throwing empty weapons to the ground and drawing sidearms, ready to make a last stand. Some men were even forced to use the empty rifles and shotguns as clubs, since they were out of even pistol ammunition. As one, the men began firing on to the approaching zombies, dropping scores with well-aimed bursts. The "Baldie" was even hit several times, and appeared to be bleeding badly. Lewis was sure that if they took it down, the other zombies would scatter, or at least be easier to control. He concentrated his fire on it, walking 5.56 millimeter rounds up its chest and into its face. All he seemed to do was make it angry, as it stopped what it was doing and began to walk right towards him. The other zombies actually cleared a path for it, getting out of its way as fast as they could stumble. They knew that their master wanted to take out the insolent National Guardsman itself.

As it approached, Lewis could hear the slackening in fire from his soldiers as they broke for the final time. Only a few scattered bursts indicated that anyone was staying with him to hold the line, as he heard the others firing behind them, hoping to break through the encircling undead and into the relatively clear streets behind their position. They would at least have a chance of making it, which was more than he could say for the few men who stood with him. The bolt on his M-16 finally locked open, meaning that he was out of ammo. Lewis knew that his pistol wouldn't even scratch the massive zombie, so he threw the rifle away and tossed his pistol and ammunition belt to one of the unarmed soldiers who had remained with him. At least that man would have a fighting chance now.

"Baldie" finally reached him, and wrapped a massive hand around his throat, lifting him up off the ground. Lewis could see spots in front of him, and knew that his time was all but up. There would be no rescue; whoever was on the radio was just playing a cruel joke on him and his people. As he finally began slipping out of consciousness, he thought that he heard the crackle of fresh gunfire, but quickly dismissed it as wishful thinking. Until Baldie's grip on his neck began to loosen.

Lewis summoned the strength to open his eyes, and saw that the massive beast was bleeding even more than it had been before, and that it seemed to be fixed on something behind him. It seemed to not be sure what to do, until Lewis suddenly felt himself land on his back. He thought the creature had dropped him, until he felt its arm still around his neck. Puzzled, he reached up, and felt a bleeding stump where the arm had been severed from the monster's body. He quickly regained his breath and strength, and began looking around. He spotted the creature striding towards a dozen soldiers, who seemed to be just standing there, waiting for it. He wanted to yell at them, to tell them to start shooting, but found that his voice was gone.

Yet the soldiers seemed to have received his message. One of them brought a large rifle up to his shoulder, knelt down, took aim and fired at the creature. Whatever he had fired, the round burst out through the back of Baldie's head, sending the beast to the pavement in a pile of blood and gore. The soldiers began walking up the street, methodically gunning down the undead legion in front of them. A pickup truck with some sort of chain gun on the back drove up behind the soldiers, pouring a torrential storm of fire into the zombies that were still trying to make it through the remnants of the National Guard defensive line. One of the soldiers paused in his firing and walked up to Lewis, offering him his hand. Lewis took it, and allowed the man to help him to his feet.

"Who are you?" he finally managed to squeak out, taking a good look at the man in front of him. On his head sat a black helmet, with a black ski mask covering his face and a set of tinted black goggles resting on the top of the helmet. The man was also wearing a camouflaged shirt, bulletproof vest and matching pants. As Lewis watched, the camouflage actually seemed to change from a dark gray/black that matched the helmet and the street he was standing on, to a softer gray color that more matched the traditional urban camouflage used by soldiers. His helmet also seemed to change color too, which surprised him.

"My name is John Davis," the man replied. "I heard you needed some reinforcements, so here we are. By the way, my people are also moving up on your left and right flanks now, and rallying the rest of your company. Your line should be secured momentarily."

"Thank you," Lewis replied, clearly very shaken. "How did you take out Baldie so fast, and why is your uniform changing color?" he asked. He knew deep down that he should be thankful that these people had saved his life, but any restraint that he had was choked out of him by the massive zombie.

"You mean the Tyrant over there?" he gestured to the large corpse. "With this," he said, lifting the large rifle. Now that he was closer to it, he could see that it looked almost like a fifty caliber sniper rifle, complete with a bipod under the barrel. There wasn't a scope on it that he could see however, which was odd for a sniper rifle. "It's a magnetically-powered rifle. I guess a railgun would be a more common way of describing it for you," John continued. "This is a smart suit," he went on, gesturing to the uniform. "There are sensors all over the exterior that detect what sort of environment the wearer is in, and reconfigure the camouflage scheme to match it. Pretty cool, huh?" he asked, with a smile. "Looks like the rest of your people are coming out of their hiding spots."

Lewis turned, and saw that his people were indeed leaving the buildings where they had sought shelter earlier, lured out by the sudden halt in the gunfire. As he turned back to look at John again, he noticed several more pickup trucks like the first one round the corner John's people had come around, and drive slowly through the shattered National Guard lines, before continuing deeper into the city.

"You aren't going to stay and help us hold the line?" Lewis asked, shocked. "We haven't got any weapons left. If those things come back, we're going to be forced to throw rocks at them!" he yelled at his rescuer. "We need you to stay here!"

"No you don't," John replied calmly, as his pickup truck pulled up. The men with him began piling on to the bed of the truck, and two more jumped into the cab along with the driver. One stood up in the middle of the cab, through an apparently open sunroof, sweeping the street in front of them with his rifle. From the way they were stationed on the truck, Lewis figured, they would be able to put fire down anywhere in a three hundred and sixty degree circle around them. One of the men in the back tossed a pair of crates down onto the street near Lewis' feet, as John motioned for him to open it. Inside the first crate were stacks of loaded guns, while in the second there appeared to be several hundred clips of ammunition.

"This should last until the rest of your people get off their butts and reinforce you," John continued, hoping on to the truck himself.

"But where are you going? The only thing out there is a small group of NYPD officers that more likely than not are already dead," Lewis stated. He didn't want to be heartless, but the odds of anyone surviving out there were practically non-existent.

"I'm going to find them, then I'm going to stop this infection before we lose the whole city. I'd offer to take you along, but you need to stay here and keep this intersection in human control," John replied.

"But how are you going to stop the infection?" Lewis asked, as the pickup slowly pulled away, to join with the others already through the barricade.

"You'll see," John called back, before the vehicle carried him out of earshot. Lewis stood there, staring after them until they were out of his sight, before turning to his men. They had gathered around him as soon as they judged it was safe to come out.

"Everyone load up!" he called. "We've got a barricade to rebuild and hold."

And, chapter! That's right, I'm ending it a bit early, since I'm planning on stretching New York out over several chapters. Don't worry though, there won't be as many evil cliffhangers in this section as there were earlier in this work. I hope.

I've got a basic idea of where I want to take this story until the end of 2001, which is really helping to make writing go a lot faster. Being sick, and getting a new computer have sort of slowed down my progress as I had to go back and re-battle the evil demon known as Wireless Networking, but obviously I've triumphed. So that means I've transferred my writing to yet another new base of operations, making this the fourth computer to have O: FS-related material on it in my house.

Anyway, nothing else really worth noting to tell you guys about. We had another flood, which meant another flood day off from school, which meant I had an extra free day to write this. I'm continuing my experimental formatting, and trying some new stuff that wouldn't let me do before, like ellipses (the three period thing that indicates a slight pause), so there might be some formatting errors. If there are, and there's enough of them that it gets me upset, I might post a re-edited version of this chapter in the near future. But I'm hoping to have finally found the scene change method that I'll be staying with for the rest of this story, unless goes and changes everything again. If they do that, well, I don't want to say anything that'll get me in trouble, and thrown off the site.

And now on to the most exciting section of the entire chapter, the COMING ATTRACTIONS!

Next Chapter: The fighting in New York City heats up as the SOC, S.T.A.R.S. and Alliance forces continue their drive into the heart of Manhattan to contain the T-virus outbreak before the whole city is doomed. President Evans' soldiers also arrive on the scene, and begin stalking the Coalition forces. Throw rampaging Umbrella monsters into the mix, and Chapter 20 is looking like everything's about to break loose. Look for all that and more in Operation: Falling S.T.A.R.S. Chapter Twenty: Welcome to the Jungle

P.S.:

Rhys, I've been getting your e-mails without any problems. If you haven't gotten my responses, my e-mail service must not be working properly again, which isn't really that big of a surprise. I'm going to try switching over to my Hotmail account when I write to you next, so we'll see if that makes a difference. I hope so!


	20. Welcome to the Jungle

Disclaimer: Everything that I invent for the benefit of this story belongs to me. Everything that doesn't belong to me belongs to somebody else, who probably has a lot more money than I do.

Author's Notes: I'm going to keep these short, again. You all have waited too long for an update to waste time reading whatever crap I've got floating around in my head. So I hope you enjoy!

Operation: Falling S.T.A.R.S.

Chapter Twenty: Welcome to the Jungle

New York City

November 24, 2001 1:30 PM

"So," Matt Ryan said, as he attempted to stretch out his cramping left leg in the back of the lead technical, "How are we doing so far?"

"All right, considering what happened here," John Davis replied. After they had disembarked from the Alliance dropship, which had been quite a ride, Matt had to admit, it had been decided that John's Marines would disperse among the SOC and S.T.A.R.S. troops. With the high-tech, highly-trained Marines spread out as evenly as possible among the Coalition ground forces, they would be able to provide any SOC or S.T.A.R.S. unit in trouble with assistance immediately. Not that there had been any problems, so far. The leaders of the three organizations committing forces had decided that they would be in the same technical, which was why John, along with Ian, Melissa, Mark, Paul, Chris and Claire Redfield, Jill Valentine and Leon Kennedy were in the pickup, along with two Marines. One of them was driving, while the other was on the large chain gun mounted towards the rear of the pickup, constantly searching for targets.

"Right now we're advancing on all fronts, pushing towards the crash site. Here, you can watch live," John continued, handing Matt a device about the same size and shape as the monitor for a laptop computer. On it was an enlarged satellite image of New York, with blue dots and squares representing Coalition troops and vehicles highlighted. It was easy for Matt to see that they were all advancing, just as John said.

"This is what's really cool about the Overwatch system," he said, tapping one of the squares on the screen. The image instantly magnified, showing one of the Alliance technicals running slowly down a city street. The soldiers onboard were constantly sweeping their weapons through their assigned fire sectors in the three hundred and sixty degree perimeter, with the chain gun pivoting between covering the street in front of and behind the truck. "Wave to the satellite," John went on, gesturing skyward. Matt saw that as he pointed, one of the soldiers on the screen pointed up as well.

"Amazing," was all he could say. The resolution on this device was simply incredible. "And I'm guessing that these red streaks and dots indicate areas and people infected with the T-virus," he went on. John nodded in the affirmative. "So you know exactly where it's hazardous for us to go into, and where the highest concentrations of infected are. Here's the million dollar question though. What are the white and red splotches a block to the left?" As soon as he said that, John grabbed the monitor.

"Civilians and infected, in close proximity. Corporal," he said, leaning forward so he could speak to the pickup's driver, "Take the next left. We may have a situation. Have Alpha Two peel off with us, and Alpha Three take over our sector. Let's take a look at what Matt's found."

The vehicle quickly accelerated, speeding towards the next intersection, which would allow it to investigate what Matt had found. The driver slowed down to take the turn, as the people on the right side of the pickup readied their weapons, ready for anything. The chain gun on the back was already rotating and ready to pour out a hailstorm of fire, until they got a glimpse at what was going on.

"A riot," Matt said simply. "I can't believe these people are so stupid. This close to the crash site, they must've seen zombies already. And here they are, putting their lives at risk, for a bunch of cheap junk."

"Not only that, but there's a load of infected people in here. We've got to get them weeded out before they reach the point of no return, or this'll get very bloody, very quickly. All right, I want Alpha Two to take perimeter security, while we go in on foot and try to clear this mess out and give the infected anti-virals," John said.

"I think it might be too late for anti-virals," Matt said, gesturing ahead of them. Several of the people in the mob had fallen to the ground, an indication that the virus had reached its terminal point. Other people raced to help them, sealing their own fates as the now zombies rose and attacked their would-be rescuers. More people began to hit the ground, indicating that these people were out of time.

"Everybody out!" John yelled, as he hopped out of the bed of the pickup truck, brought his rifle up to his shoulder, and began firing single shots into the undead. The rest of the truck's occupants quickly followed, diving into the mess of humans and zombies that confronted them.

Matt felt a tug at his left arm, turned, and smashed the butt of his F-1100 into the face of a zombified woman, just before she could sink her teeth into his shoulder. He finished her off with a well-aimed shot to the forehead, before looking up to find more targets of opportunity. He caught a glimpse of one Alliance Marine firing what appeared to be a submachine gun, before Matt realized that the Marines' rifles came with collapsible stocks. That made sense, since it would allow them to have the same firepower as before, while still being able to maneuver well in close quarters fighting.

"Matt, follow me," John said, running up to him. He had one of the collapsed stock rifles in one hand, and a pistol that appeared to be a cross between one of the fully-automatic Glock 18C variations and a Colt .45 in the other. Matt nodded, as he and John began jogging through the now-dispersing crowd. John would pause from time to time, snapping off a shot from either the rifle or pistol at a zombie that Matt would barely have a chance to see. The Marine was clearly in his element here on the battlefield.

"Where are we going, John?" Matt asked. He took the opportunity a brief lull in the undead provided to swap out his half-spent rifle magazine for a fresh one, and had completed the action before John replied.

"Here," he answered, pulling the display screen out again from a pouch on his back. "We're two blocks from where the NYPD first responders were holed up. I've got another two squads vectoring in here now, but something's got me worried," he said, as the Coalition troops who had run the gauntlet through the riot broke through and formed up around Matt and John.

"Well, that was a fun little stroll," Ian Williams said. Matt was sure that he was smiling beneath the face shield on his helmet. "What's up next?"

"We're going to rescue a holed-up group of NYPD officers," Matt said, answering Ian's question.

"That may not be the case anymore," John said, frowning as he watched his display screen. "Alpha Two's crew is going to stay here, take care of our pickup, and finish securing the area while we go investigate this building," he went on, holding the screen so that it was pointed away from him, to allow everyone to see it. The image of a tall building spun around on the screen slowly, allowing everyone to see what their objective looked like when it was approached from any angle.

"What's wrong?" Ian asked, curious.

"Overwatch picked up a lot of gunfire from this area about ten minutes ago, but no zombies. At the time I was preoccupied with rescuing those National Guard troops, so I didn't notice what was going on," John replied. "But I think we better get in there fast."

"Agreed," Ian declared, as he looked over at Chris.

"Let's do it," he said, pulling back the charging handle on his rifle, one of the rare Mark 12 Special Operations Rifles that had made it into SOC possession before Paul Westing's defection. Matt had made sure that Chris received the weapon before the Alpha Site had fallen, as his way of repaying the S.T.A.R.S. leader for finding the anti-virus for the Nemesis III parasite. The weapon was only a drop in the bucket compared to the gratitude that Matt felt towards Chris, but would have to suffice since it was the best he could offer in the way of repayment.

"Williams, Perez, take point," John barked, as his two Marines immediately carried out the orders. "Director Williams, if you would do me the honor of helping me to watch our backs?" he asked, as Ian nodded.

"It would be my pleasure. Let's move out!" he called. The ad-hoc squad began moving up the street towards the NYPD position, weapons fanned out and ready to fire in any direction a threat could come from. Matt found himself covering the right flank of the group, along with Melissa. As he kept his eyes peeled for any sign of approaching zombies, or other B.O.W.s, he heard a sudden burst of fire from the rear, where John and Ian were. It took all of his concentration not to glance back at them; if he did, then he would be cutting the number of people defending the right flank in half, since his eyes would be on John and Ian, not his fire sector.

'They can handle themselves,' he thought to himself, 'and they can always call for backup if they need it.'

Just as suddenly as the firing began, it cut off, as Ian called out, "All clear. Couple of zombie dogs hopped out of a dumpster and tried to jump us. We're clear back here." After hearing that, Matt decided that he definitely did not like how these B.O.W.s appeared to be much smarter than the average, run of the mill Tyrants, zombies and zombie dogs. In fact, if what he had seen at the National Guard position was correct, then the fact that the Tyrant there was able to control zombies marked a huge, and previously-unknown advance in Umbrella's viral technologies.

"We're here," one of the Marines on point called, snapping Matt's attention back to the present. "There's spent shell cases everywhere, loads of blood, but no bodies. Judging by the casings, we've got police-standard Berettas and shotguns, along with what look like .45 shells. Front door's barricaded shut, and appears to be made of metal," the man reported, as John nodded.

"Could be that the police weren't shooting at zombies," he stated. "Major Williams, breach the door if you please. Corporal Perez, you're with me for perimeter security." Both Marines went to carry out their orders, as the SOC and S.T.A.R.S. split between covering the perimeter, and preparing to storm the building's entrance. As they took up their positions, Major Williams pushed away the debris that was lying in front of the door, pulled out a device that looked exactly like a marathon runner's baton, unscrewed an end cap off of one side of it, and pressed that end against the door. He pushed his thumb against the other end of the device, which appeared to contain a button that activated it. Matt watched as a bright glow appeared on the door where the baton was pressed, as the Marine ran the device along the hinged-side of the door, from top to bottom. As soon as he passed it over the bottom hinge, he stopped, kicked the door right by the handle, and watched as the door fell inwards. The Marine stepped back to allow a clear field of fire for Matt, Mark, Chris and Jill, released the button and screwed the cap back onto the device, raised his weapon, and was through the door right behind Matt.

"Clear," Chris said, as he finished sweeping the room they had stepped into. It appeared to be a large reception area, with a narrow corridor leading deeper into the building. They kept moving forwards, weapons at the ready, as everyone else filed into the room. John and Corporal Perez were the last two people inside, and they paused at the de-hinged door lying on the floor. They lifted it up, careful of the still-glowing side, and wedged it back into position. Matt looked at them, slightly confused.

"Portable fusion torch," John explained with a smile. "That door should cool down in about two minutes, and when it does, it'll be fused to that wall. Only way anyone'll get in here behind us is if they completely destroy the door, cut in here the same way we did, or take the whole wall down."

"I've got to get me one of those," Paul said, with a smile. "Sure beats some flimsy set of lockpicks."

"Lockpicks are faster," Jill shot back, "and you can re-lock the door afterwards. Those things absolutely suck for stealth." Jill had always had a passion for lockpicks, which Paul obviously hadn't known.

"All right, let's stop bickering and find out what happened here," Chris said, taking point as the group moved down the hallway. Major Williams and Corporal Perez took up position at the back of the group, covering their backs, just in case. Matt could feel that something was wrong, as he saw blood stains on the floor and walls of the corridor. They approached a door on the right side of the hall, as Chris paused, and motioned for two other people to come up with him. Matt and Leon strode up to Chris, stopping next to the door. Almost immediately, they heard what had caused Chris to motion for backup.

"Gunshots," Matt said, looking back towards the group.

"Let's get in there, people," Ian said, as Matt and Leon took up positions next to the door. The rest of the squad stacked up behind Matt, while Chris took a half-step back from the door, before slamming his foot into it. The door exploded inwards, as Leon and Matt charged through, weapons up.

They were in some sort of large, empty warehouse. Tall, thick columns dropped from the ceiling near the door, and near a loading dock on the opposite end of the building, while the middle of the warehouse was almost completely empty. Immediately, bullets began striking the walls and ground around them, forcing them to dive for cover. Matt looked to his left, surprised to see a pair of NYPD officers, pinned down but returning fire.

"What's the situation?" he yelled. One of the officers looked over, shocked at how heavily-armed the new arrivals were. The man's eyes seemed to glaze over for a moment, before he came back to his senses. Matt noticed that John seemed to be looking at the man as well, though he probably wanted to know what was going on just as much as Matt did.

"I don't know who these clowns are," the officer replied. "About fifteen minutes ago they started piling out of the apartment buildings across the street, and opened fire. We shot back, took some casualties, and pulled back into this warehouse here," he added, gesturing to the room they were in. "They crashed a van through that loading bay over there," he continued, pointing towards a wrecked vehicle on the other side of the room, "and came in through the breech. God, I'm glad you guys showed up. We're just about down to throwing rocks at 'em."

"Looks like we found our missing cops," Matt said to Leon, before nodding back at the officer.

"Well, let's see what we can do," he yelled, over the frequent weapons fire. "Paul, Mark, suppression fire! Let's get their heads down, and call in some support."

"Sounds like a plan," Mark said over the radio net, before leaning out from behind the column he was using for cover, and squeezing off a long burst. Since the previous gun battle between the mystery hostiles on the opposite end of the room, and the NYPD, had been limited mostly to handguns and shotguns, the sound of an F-1100 opening up on full auto caused a noticeable pause in fire from the enemy line.

"How about some support?" Matt asked, looking over towards John, who had just run the gauntlet at the doorway, and slid behind a column of his own.

"I can have a couple of squads here in six minutes," he replied, "But there might be something else just a bit closer."

"What, pray tell?" Matt said, knowing that if John wanted him to know, he would've already told him.

"Don't want to get your hopes up," was the reply. "But they'll have more than enough firepower to take care of these gangsters."

"Gangsters?" Matt shot back, confused. Why would gangsters be in a shootout with police, in the middle of a dying city?

"South Side Crew is what they call themselves. To answer your question, yes, a street gang. And no, I don't know why they're here," was the answer Matt got from John.

"To be honest with you," Leon began, "I'm not really concerned as much with the who, what, when, where or why as I am with the fact that they're shooting at us."

"Good point," Matt answered, before leaning out from behind his column, and taking a snapshot at one of the gang members on the other side of the room. A puff of blood was the reward for his efforts, and a fresh hail of bullets the punishment.

"John, how about that backup?" Matt called again. "It's starting to get... _interesting_ in here."

"Any second now," John answered, firing off a three round burst, and sending another gangster to the ground. Almost as soon as the last round in the burst was fired, the wall behind the South Side Crew exploded inwards. A cloud of dust and debris filled the room momentarily, but it quickly settled to reveal a shocking sight. A pair of M2A3 Bradley Armored Personnel Carriers, sitting squarely where the wall had been seconds before.

"How?" Matt began to ask, as all of the firing in the building screeched to a halt. None of the Coalition forces wanted to risk firing on the Bradleys, while the Crew realized that it was over. Without any high ground, they would have no chance of hitting the weaker top armor on the Bradleys, not that they had any weapons capable of penetrating in the first place. Any further aggression would just end in their slaughter. Two dozen Coalition soldiers streamed in once the firing stopped, along with an equal number of other camouflaged soldiers. Matt's eyes widened as he recognized who his rescuers were.

"Clear!" Captain Francis Lewis called, as his men, along with the two squads John had ordered to the building to help them just minutes ago, although it felt like an hour, finished securing the South Side Crew's weapons.

"Captain Lewis, you have excellent timing," John said, stepping out from cover and walking towards the National Guard officer.

"Well Mr. Davis, I figured that I owed it to you and your people, since you saved our butts a half hour ago. So when my radioman picked up an SOS saying that it was your people in trouble, what building you were in, and where to enter, well, I had to show up," Lewis replied, with a huge smile.

"Where'd you get the armor from?" Matt asked. "And what about the intersection you were holding?" Lewis' smile only grew after Matt finished his questions.

"After you went through our lines, I told my superiors about how we were saved by a group of highly armed commandos intent on stopping the outbreak. Ten minutes later every National Guard soldier that had been held back was flooding into the city, and we were relieved. HQ didn't bother to give us any more orders, so I decided that maybe some of my people should follow you, in case you needed help. So I took these two squads, found the Bradleys just sitting around waiting for something to do, and took off. We met up with these guys a couple of minutes ago, after they finished clearing out these thugs' other strong point," Lewis said, as John nodded.

"Good. Well, it looks like you've been trumped," he said, looking over towards the man who appeared to be the South Side leader.

"You go further into the city, you the one who's gonna be trumped,." he retorted.

"I didn't quite catch that," Matt said, looking the man in his face. "Care to repeat it?"

"There things deeper in the city that your worst nightmares can't handle. That's what we were runnin' from. Thanks to you, they're probably coming here now. So, good job."

"Thank you," John replied, his voice strangely neutral. "Captain, you think some NYPD reinforcements, along with a squad of my people, can take care of these clowns?" John asked, as Lewis nodded.

"No problem. We'll have them down here in a few minutes," he said, as he motioned for someone to bring him a radio. While they were waiting for the NYPD officers to arrive, Matt walked over to John.

"You could've told me that you had a plan ready in case things went sour here," he said, clearly unhappy.

"I didn't even know until just before it happened," John replied. "Besides, would it have made a difference?"

Matt could only nod, realizing just how much power his new allies were capable of projecting, when necessary. As he stood there, the NYPD officers arrived, looking a bit worse for wear, but more than happy to get some payback on the South Side Crew. John motioned for one of his reinforcement squads to stay behind, as he walked outside. Everyone else followed him, and headed towards the empty pickup truck that had been left for them. Just as John was about to jump into the bed of the truck though, he paused.

"Get off the street!" he yelled, as what felt like a small magnitude earthquake shook the entire block they were on. The vibrations increased in frequency, as Matt realized that whatever was causing them wasn't natural. Nobody hesitated at John's warning, piling into the surrounding buildings, as one of the Marines pulled the pickup back into the warehouse, parking it alongside the Bradleys. Just as the last person got off the street, a massive shadow appeared around the corner, two blocks down.

"That must've been what the South Street guy was talking about," Mark muttered, as the creature finally stepped into view.

"You've got to be kidding me," was all Matt could say, as a massive, six story tall mutated cockroach stepped into the street. The creature swept its oversized head from one side of the road to the other, smashing in the sides of buildings in the process. It paused, seeming to sniff the air for a moment, before moving with a speed surprising for its size towards one of the buildings housing Coalition soldiers. The creature reared up on its tree trunk-thick back legs, lifted up its front legs, and slammed them down into the building. The structure buckled under the blow but remained standing, as Matt looked over at John.

"How do we stop that thing?" he asked. He knew that his rifle, John's railgun, even the Bradleys would only make the roach mad. They needed something with a lot more firepower than they had available. John pulled out a handheld radio, separate from the radio net all of the Coalition troops were on, and flipped the power switch on.

"Striker One, requesting immediate fire support, my position plus seventy," he said, before powering down the radio, not waiting for a reply. "Get under cover," he continued, this time on the Coalition radio net. Everyone immediately dove for shelter, as a missile flew up the road towards the creature. Matt shielded his eyes just before impact, as a wave of heat slammed into him. After a few seconds, he risked taking a peek, and saw that the mutant roach was now nothing more than a steaming carcass, filling fully three quarters of the former six lane street.

"Nice," Matt muttered, admiring the scene. It really was nice to have someone on your side that possessed that kind of firepower.

"But we've got a big problem now," John replied. "There's only one virus that we know Umbrella has that can cause mutations on this scale. They've released a Human Enhancement Virus variation into the city."

"So what? We still follow the plan, drop an anti-matter charge on the crash site, blow it, and get the vaccine... I see," Matt replied. "You don't have an HEV vaccine handy, do you?"

"Not enough for the whole city, yet. And with these freaks on the loose," John answered, gesturing to the roach's remains, "I'm not sure how long we'll be able to hold a perimeter. We," he said, gesturing to the Coalition troops, "Should be able to hold for awhile. The National Guard though, without heavy armored and air support, not so long."

"So we take those monsters out of the equation," Ian stated after a moment's thought. "How far into the city do we need to go to be able to create a solid perimeter around the crash site, with just our troops?"

"We'll need a four-block radius around the epicenter," John replied, catching on. "With the National Guard coming in behind us to mop up the zombies, and lesser B.O.W.s. This could work."

"We don't have the armored or air support that you said was necessary to stop these things," Mark said. "We've just got whatever vehicle launched that missile, and the technicals. And I know that whatever fired the missile isn't going to be able to cover every street in that perimeter at once. There's going to be a gap somewhere, and one of those super B.O.W.s is going to get loose."

"He's right," Matt added. "We need some heavier firepower if we're going to tangle with more of these things. What we've got now just isn't cutting it."

"I can get armor-piercing ammo, heavy machine guns, and heavy anti-armor rockets," John said, before quickly adding "Our anti-armor rockets and armor-piercing ammo. If that can't stop these things dead in their tracks, nothing can."

"Well, what are we waiting for then? Get those guns down here, and let's secure a perimeter, before we lose the whole city," Ian said. "We've got work to do."

Washington D.C.

November 24, 2001 3:12 PM

The White House

"General, why am I not hearing about dead Coalition soldiers yet?" President Evans asked, staring at a very nervous-looking General Vincent. "You did understand my orders, didn't you? And you've had more than enough time to deploy your equipment and personnel to New York, haven't you?"

"Mr. President, you have to understand..." Vincent began, before Evans cut him off.

"No General, you need to understand. _I_," he replied, pointing to himself, "Am the President of the United States of America. _You_ are just one of dozens of generals under my command. When I give you an order, I expect it to be carried out."

"Sir, it is being carried out," Vincent answered, beginning to fear for his life. Evans' short temper was notorious, and it was common knowledge that to awaken that temper was almost always a death sentence. "Our people are just landing now, and should be entering the theater of operations momentarily. Once that happens, it'll take them less than ten minutes to calibrate the device, disperse, and begin hitting Coalition forces wherever encountered. After that, it's just a matter of time."

"Excellent," Evans replied, with a genuine smile on his face. "Would you please be so kind as to get me a connection to Andrew Spencer," he asked, looking at one of his aides. The man nodded, hit one of the speed-dial buttons on the President's desktop telephone, and handed the receiver to him.

"Ah, Andrew, it's been a long time," Evans said, after hearing Spencer pick up on the other line.

"And what would be the purpose of this call, Mr. President?" Spencer innocently replied. The tone of his voice, however, indicated that he knew exactly why Evans was calling him.

"We both know what the purpose is. New York City," Evans growled. "I don't recall any operations being planned to hit the city. You have two minutes to explain yourself, starting now," he continued, his voice bubbling with anger.

"No, Franklin, I believe it is _you_ who needs to explain himself," Spencer replied, dropping any semblance of formality. "Remember who put you in office? And who donated, rather generously I might add, to your personal bank accounts. You are mine, Mr. President. I own you. Your sole purpose in life is now to carry out my every whim. Do not forget that, even for one minute."

"Are you trying to tell me that New York City was your way of reminding me of who is in control?" Evans asked, genuinely surprised. He would've accepted it if Spencer had said the virus outbreak was caused by some rogue group he had sold the virus to, or that it had been stolen, or that some other company wanted to test out something that they had been cooking up. But to hear straight from Andrew Spencer that the attack on New York was designed just for him to exercise superiority over the President of the United States...

"Now Franklin, you know that Umbrella has nothing but America's best interests in mind. How could you ever accuse us of such a terrible crime? Surely, you mean to say that once again the S.T.A.R.S. and their SOC flunkies have lashed out at American civilians who are loyal to the legitimate government," Spencer replied. The way he dismissed the attack, along with the previous viral incidents sparked by Umbrella, sent a clear message to Evans. 'We haven't hesitated to use every weapon at our disposal in the past to get our way, nor will we in the future.'

"I don't know how much longer my people are going to keep buying that story, especially considering the fact that there is a large Coalition force on the ground in New York City, helping to contain the outbreak. I even have reports of NYPD and National Guard forces working with them. And since the situation in New York is, as of right now, so un-coordinated, I'm not even able to make sure that units working with the Coalition are isolated from the others, and taken care of. Word of this is going to spread, and rapidly at that," Evans replied.

"Well, what exactly are you asking of me, Mr. President?" Spencer replied, switching back to a formal tone of voice. "It sounds like New York might be lost, from what you're telling me. Perhaps now is the time to cut your losses, before the infection spreads out of control."

"I still have a few cards up my sleeve, and I'm ninety-nine percent sure that the Alliance..." he began, choking out the word with as much hate as possible, "will be able to eliminate the outbreak. I'm moving people into position to mop up whatever's left of them, along with the rest of the Coalition."

"It sounds like you have a weapon capable of dealing with them," Spencer replied. "Interested in sharing? After all, any survivors will most likely be coming after my people next. And I'll be in your debt," he added. That did it for Evans. Thus far, he had been nothing more than an expensive pawn for Andrew Spencer, but now he would finally have something on his... master, that he could call in if necessary.

"Depending on how their trial run in New York goes, Lord Spencer, it would be a pleasure," Evans answered, any anger at the sneak attack against New York instantly forgotten. "You understand, of course, that if they prove to be ineffective, which I strongly hope is not the case," Evans said, fixing his gaze squarely on General Vincent, "Then there would be no point in me providing the technology to you."

"Of course, Mr. President. How could I ask for any more?" Spencer replied. Evans placed the phone back on its cradle, looked at the assembled room full of people, and sighed.

"I really, really hate that man," he said, slumping in his chair. "Tell our people in New York to expect company soon," he continued, looking at Vincent. "If I know Spencer, he's going to send people to the city to try and steal our armor and weapons. That cannot be allowed to happen, under any circumstances."

"Of course, Mr. President. Don't worry sir, he won't get anything," Vincent answered, with a smile.

"Excellent. After their operation in New York is concluded, have our operatives ready to head to Paris. If Andrew Spencer wants our new technology, we'll deliver it to him, in person," Evans said, with a smile of his own. Suddenly, things didn't look nearly as bad as they had just a few minutes ago. "Oh, and prepare a press release, to be issued after the Coalition is crushed, and our people take care of Spencer. Have it say that we've uncovered new evidence that the S.T.A.R.S. and SOC really were innocent, that we terribly regret that this information was discovered too late to make a difference, and have it say that I offer to resign my office as a consequence. Of course, I will be persuaded at the last minute not to, for the benefit of the country, the SOC and S.T.A.R.S. will be dead, Bush and the rest of his people will hopefully be dead, and Umbrella will be gone. Then who will stand against me? The Alliance? If you're to be believed, General, our new soldiers will wipe out their ground contingent. There won't be anyone left to stand against me!" he exclaimed, with a smile. "I'll be free of Spencer, my brother's death will be avenged, and I'll be the unquestioned ruler of the most powerful nation on the planet! And the best part is that my enemies will probably finish each other off for me!"

"Mr. President," an aide said, walking into the room with a cellular phone in his hand, "There's someone on the line who wishes to speak with you. I recognized the voice sir, I think you'll like this call."

"Well, give me the phone then," Evans replied. The aide brought the phone over and handed it to him, as the smile on his face was replaced with the frown of a man expecting to hear from the Alliance again. The smile was back almost immediately after he put the phone up to his ear, and only grew before the call was over.

"Scramble a flight of stealth bombers, loaded with ground-penetrating nuclear warheads, and send them to the following coordinates," Evans said, before scribbling out a series of numbers on a piece of paper. "Tell them to flatten this entire area, and drop the bunker busters right here," he added, motioning to a second line of coordinates, and hanging up the phone. "This day is just getting better and better."

Paris, France

November 24, 2001 3:19 PM

Umbrella, Inc. Main Offices

"The nerve of him," Andrew Spencer said, slamming down his phone receiver in anger. "Thinking that he can be the boss of _me_? Well, if he hasn't learned by now, that isn't a good idea. Well, if he wants to play, we'll play," he continued, picking up the phone again.

"Mr. Walker? It seems your operation against New York City was very successful. You have my congratulations, and a new assignment. Contact Xenia Omerova, and tell her that I want her to assemble a team for immediate action in New York. Tell them that I want samples of whatever new technology Franklin Evans is deploying into the city, and that I'll triple her usual fee if she manages to secure any equipment from this "Alliance". Time to see what we're really up against," he concluded, before hanging up, and dialing another number.

"This is Phelps," The voice on the other end said, sounding slightly annoyed, as if he had just been interrupted from something very important.

"Doctor, it's good to hear from you," Spencer replied, in a rare pleasant tone.

"Lord Spencer, my apologies. I wasn't expecting to hear from you, sir, at least until we had concluded our latest round of experiments on the newest batch of prototype Alphas," he answered, his voice instantly changing once he recognized who was on the other end of the phone.

"Well Doctor, I am, of course, interested in the performance of our strongest creations to-date. However, I was calling to inquire as to the progress our search for the Source has made. If there has been any, of course," Spencer said, heavily emphasizing the "If."

"Tracking down the Source has been exceedingly difficult, my Lord, as you know. Without even so much as a name to work with, it's been almost impossible to make any progress whatsoever. That said," he continued, not allowing Spencer the chance to interrupt and criticize him, "Our team analyzing the recovered lab records from Dr. Trenton have made some progress towards uncovering the Source's identity. We know for a fact that the Source is a female, of Southern or Central American descent, and we've narrowed her age down to somewhere in the twenties to thirties range."

"Well, Doctor, you've managed to describe several million people so far. Have we made any more progress?" Spencer asked, with a slight frown. Tracking down the Source was the key to his strategy of not only keeping Evans in check, but dealing with those meddling S.T.A.R.S., their allies in the SOC and U.S. military, and with whatever this so-called "Alliance" was.

"I'm sorry, sir. We're working as hard as possible, but it seems as though someone went through an extraordinary effort to purge the identity of the Source from Trenton's notes. An effort, I should add, that appears to have been made after Trenton's death," Phelps replied.

"What, exactly, are you trying to tell me, Doctor? That we failed to eliminate Trenton, as I was led to believe?" Spencer replied. If this was true, it could mean serious problems for him, especially if Trenton either leaked Umbrella's planned actions against him to the public, or decided to throw in with Evans or the "Coalition."

"No, Lord Spencer, Doctor Trenton and his team most assuredly died in the "lab accident" that occurred thirty years ago. But sometime after that, someone with intimate knowledge of Trenton's work went through these notes with a fine-toothed comb, and took out all incriminating references. It's almost like someone knew that, thirty years down the road, we would attempt to track down the Source," he answered.

"What about Birkin's notes? He was the one, after all, who managed to create the functional HEV that our current work is based on," Spencer said, as if Phelps wasn't smart enough to have thought of this.

"I have a second team going through his notes, the ones that were stored at facilities outside of Raccoon City, anyway. Unfortunately, the notes Birkin kept at his Raccoon lab were permanently lost, so the later work that he did on the HEV to tailor it to Albert Wesker are lost for good. But, if we're lucky, the early work Birkin did on the HEV will have survived," Phelps stated.

"For the sake of Umbrella, and my legacy, I hope that we're lucky, Doctor. You may continue with your work. Thank you," Spencer said, before hanging up the phone. "If Franklin Evans thinks that he has the edge because he has some new toys, he has another thing coming."

New York City

November 24, 2001 3:32 PM

"Let's go! Get some fire on that intersection!" Matt Ryan yelled as a platoon of Coalition infantry, along with Captain Lewis' National Guard soldiers, raced forward to secure a massive, eight-lane intersection from a horde of zombies, and other undead creatures. They were making good time, and in fact would be at their assigned section in the hastily-established stop line momentarily. And none too soon, it appeared.

It had only started with the HEV-mutated roaches. Soon other creatures began pouring out into the streets, their desire for human flesh and blood overcoming any previous aversions to human contact. And the closer this rag tag force had drawn to the center of the crash site, the worse it had become. At least this intersection was _only_ held by more-conventional B.O.Ws.

"You got it, Matt!" Mark yelled, motioning for one of their Bradley APCs to engage a particularly large pack of zombies that was currently stumbling around in the center of the intersection. The Bradley's Bushmaster cannon spat out a short burst of shells, scattering body parts across the street. A Marine fire team quickly swept through the area, making sure all of the creatures were down for the count. By the time they had finished, the intersection was back in control of the living. For the time being.

"Is it just me, or is this taking a lot longer than we planned?" Matt asked, turning to Ian Williams. "Even with the mutants running around out here, we should've been at the stop line already."

"We're close, Matt. Just one more intersection to clear, and we're there. If it makes you feel better, we'll probably be the first ones in place," Ian replied.

"Great," Mark added. "That means we get to be first to put our necks on the line."

"We all signed up for this," Paul replied, slapping a fresh clip into his F-1100. "Besides, if you really wanted to, you could always turn yourself in to some Evans-loyal agent somewhere. I'm sure they'd be ever so merciful."

"Very funny, Paul. Let's just get this over with, so we can pull the plug on Umbrella. I, for one, am sick of dealing with these freaks," Mark retorted. While their conversation went on, Matt drifted over towards John Davis, who was busy scribbling and tapping on his flat screen display.

"What's up?" Matt asked, curious.

"I'm running through a back door in the Alliance Support Network, getting us a priority supply drop. Getting front line equipment is out of the question, but even third or fourth string weapons would do a world of good down here. There," he said, sliding the flat screen back into its pouch on his back. "Weapons drop's inbound. By the time we get to the stop line, it'll be here."

"Excellent," Ian said. "With the monsters running wild like they are, the extra firepower's going to be well-appreciated."

"Here here," Mark said. "I guess Christmas is coming early this year!"

"Eyes up," Matt said, just to remind everone that they were still behind enemy lines. Everyone instantly snapped back to their assigned fire sectors, keeping an eye out for any trouble, human or not. Because new weapons or not, things were going to get a whole lot worse before they got better.

La Guardia Airport

New York City, New York

November 24, 2001 3:35 PM

National Guard Command Post

Brigadier General Ulrich Robinson scratched the back of his head softly, before walking up to a large, scale map of lower Manhattan. Several push-pins were stuck into the map, indicating the location of the aircraft that had crashed just a few hours earlier, several confirmed... "mutants," for lack of a better term, and the locations of a handful of National Guard and special ops troopers, under the command of God only knew who.

One of his companies had run off some time ago, taking several Bradley APCs with them, and joining up with a massive infantry unit, at least battalion strength, that seemed to appear out of thin air. Current reports had them just a handful of blocks away from the crash site, doing God only knew what. Attempts to contact them, other than by the Guard company under the command of Captain Francis Lewis, met utter failure.

Of course, after they had driven into the heart of Manhattan, his hand had been forced. The heavy regiment that had been massed on the bridges out of the borough had immediately been deployed into the city, securing block after block. After all, it wouldn't do for the numerous news helicopters circling overhead to see his forces sitting around playing paddy-cake while some unknown force was single-handedly saving the city. Or so he thought.

The message he had just received, from President Franklin Evans no less, was cryptic to say the least. He went over it again in his head, just to try and decipher any hidden meanings that he might have missed. Though he was positive he hadn't.

_General Robinson,_

_We are aware that several special forces units have entered Manhattan, heading towards a crash site in the borough. Do not interfere with, or aid them. Keep track with as many of them as you can. Reinforcements are en route, and will arrive imminently._

Not being one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Ulrich had let the soldiers to continue into the city unimpeded. He hadn't counted on them taking Captain Lewis' company with them, but by all accounts, they had been more than successful in penetrating the city. It seemed like everywhere they went, they left only human survivors, and corpses.

An aide suddenly walked into his command tent, with a pale look on his face. Before he could ask the man what was wrong, a second person entered the tent, answering his question for him. Of course, this only left him with more questions to ask.

"Who are you?" Ulrich asked, looking at something that appeared to be a 14th century armored knight, right out of a children's fairy tale. The only differences were that this man was toting a very large rifle, had a black-tinted face shield to go along with his head to toe steel armor, and loomed over him at a height of at least seven feet two inches.

"Army Special Forces, Experimental Division," the man replied, before snapping to a quick salute, armor and all. "Lieutenant Colonel Wallace at your command, sir. I understand you have a pest problem, sir."

"At ease, Colonel," Robinson replied, returning the salute. "I may not have ever heard of your unit, but I'm willing to take whatever help I can get at this point."

"That would explain why you have Earth Alliance Marines running rampant throughout our city," Colonel Wallace interjected. Robinson was shocked that this junior officer would have the gall to interrupt a general, but bit back a rebuke. He truly was, as he said, grateful for whatever help he could get.

"I have no idea what you're talking about Colonel, but if God himself decided that he wanted to send down a brigade of angels, well, right now I would not be in a position to refuse. Unless, of course, you give me a good reason to."

"How about this then, sir? You've allowed the people responsible for attacking Manhattan to enter the borough, for some as of yet unknown reason. Are you still willing to accept their help, General?" Wallace asked, immediately filing Robinson under the "Keep an eye on" category. The man wasn't blatantly taking up arms against his President, Franklin Evans, but any personnel exposed to the Earth Alliance, no matter to what degree that extended, had to be watched.

"For a group responsible for attacking the city, they've done a decent job defending it. Better, at least, than any of your people, that I know of. Now Colonel, I'm sure there's a reason why you're standing in my headquarters lecturing me like a schoolchild, instead of helping me save this city. May we please get to it, so I can get back to work?"

"Of course, sir. As of Fifteen Hundred Hours, 24 November 2001, New York City has been declared a federal disaster area. Martial law is in effect throughout the area, and orders to shoot to kill are in effect," Wallace said, quoting some order from memory.

"The city's been under martial law for three hours already, Colonel. Tell me something I don't know," Robinson replied, his temper starting to grow. The fate of New York was up in the air, and this man was telling him things he already knew, instead of helping to solve the problem.

"Yes, sir. Under Executive Order 9081-A, signed by President Franklin Evans at Fourteen Hundred Hours, 24 November 2001, I have been authorized to deploy three Mark VII 500 kiloton nuclear warheads, expressly to sanitize the infected areas of New York City. Your personnel are hereby ordered to withdrawal back to their previous positions outside the borough, and to break out NBC protective gear immediately. Deployment of our warheads will commence once this order has been carried out," Wallace stated.

"You can't do that. We're taking the city back!" Robinson almost shouted, but to no avail.

"If you refuse to carry out your orders, I am also authorized by the same Order to remove you from command and place you under arrest, pending court martial for dereliction of duty. The decision I leave up to you, General. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a mess I need to clean up," Wallace concluded, before executing a perfect 180 degree turn, and exiting the tent. General Robinson took a moment, before coming to his decision and motioning for a radio.

"Attention, all units. This is Brigadier General Ulrich Robinson, in command of the Manhattan defense effort. You are hereby ordered to... withdrawal from the borough immediately, return to your jump off points, and prepare for imminent NBC exposure. Repeat, all units are to immediately depart Manhattan, and prepare for imminent nuclear detonations." That said, Robinson switched off the radio, sat down, and bowed his head.

"May God have mercy on our souls."

And, chapter! I know, this one was quite a bit shorter than any of the last, I don't know, eight or so. But I figured that 8 months was long enough to wait even for this update, so here it is.

Speaking of, I'd like to apologize for the time it's taken me to update this story. School, and college, have been hectic. But finals are over on Wednesday ( the 14th) which gives me a good month off from school to write more. And write more I shall.

But in the mean time, I hope you're all satisfied with this chapter. I had a bit of writer's block, which didn't help the updating process, but I managed to get through it alright. And now we're speeding back along towards nuclear armageddon...

Next on Operation: Falling S.T.A.R.S.:

Franklin Evans' special forces unit finally makes contact with the Coalition, which certainly won't be good. Also, will our heroes be able to stop them before they're able to detonate their nuclear weapons, wiping out a huge percentage of the Coalition's ground forces? Also, what about the raid against Umbrella's Headquarters facilities, and the fate of the 24th Division? There's only one way you can find out: by checking out Operation: Falling S.T.A.R.S. Chapter 21: Brawl.


	21. Update

Hey everybody, this is just a quick update to let you all know that I'm still alive, and that I still intend to update.

The last year has been hectic, to say the least. I got out of the habit of writing, and now I'm just starting to get back into it. I promise, I'll have a new chapter up soon. Just hang in there everybody.


End file.
